I Don’t Love What You Did . . . But I Love You!

Tony was about 3 or 4 years old and laying on the living room couch enjoying his grape juice in a sippy cup. All was well in his world, and when his world was good, mine was good!

Gary and I moved into our first home the year before Tony was born. It was brand new, and we had the joy of picking out the carpet, tile, appliances, and even the color of the paint. My father-in-law once said that I was going to wear the carpet out with the constant vacuuming. It was a happy time for us, we loved our new home, and we loved being new parents and the joys that parenting Tony and Vinny brought us each day.

On this particular day, Tony was tuned in to the Ninja Turtles movie, dressed in his Ninja Turtle jammies.  He was happy and content. Baby brother Vinny was napping in the other room, and Tony had full command of the house, TV, and me. It’s amazing how a peaceful scene such as this can go drastically south in a fraction of a second.

I asked Tony to sit up and drink his juice. He ignored me. I asked again. He turned his little shoulder so that his back would be completely to me. I reached down and picked him up and sat him on the couch in what I considered appropriate drinking posture. That sweet little boy turned his face to me and gave me a look that I will never forget. His
expression screamed of injustice, disbelief, and anger all in one little glance! Then he pulled the sippy cup full of grape juice from his lips, and threw it across the living room and into the wall!

While the sippy cup was flying and spiraling through the air, grape juice was spraying all over my new Gun Powder Blue carpet. Upon impact with the wall, the sippy cup lid came off and an explosion of purple juice covered my beautiful mauve colored wall.  As I remember, this all happened in super-slow-motion followed by deafening silence.

I grabbed Tony under his little arms and picked him up. He started screaming bloody murder, but it didn’t faze me for one second. I hauled his little screaming self down the hall and into his room. I tossed him down on his bed and told him to stay there. I went back to the living room and began soaking up the grape juice from my carpet. Tony was
still screaming bloody murder, so I marched back in to his room, turned him over and swatted him on his little behind. I left again and continued cleaning, and he was still screaming, and I mean SCREAMING! I went back into Tony’s room and turned him over and swatted him again! I left him laying there on his bed and went to finish cleaning my walls and carpet.

As I was cleaning and thinking about what I could use to cover up the stain on the walls, the stain of my own sin suddenly came to my mind and I was overwhelmed with shame. I thought about all the times in my life when I threw my proverbial sippy cup and stained the walls and carpet of my life, and the walls and carpet of those around me. I
remembered hurtful things I had said and done over the years and marveled at the fact that when I deserved to be thrown down and swatted, my heavenly Father loved me and held me and covered the stain of my sin with His own blood. I realized how unlike my Father I am, and how I long to be more like Him.

By now, the screaming coming from Tony’s room had been replaced with quiet whimpering. I went down the hall and opened his door. He looked at me with the most defeated look I’d ever seen. He was expecting to be swatted again, and didn’t even care. I walked over to his bed, and sat down next to him. He sat up and snuggled into my
arms, still whimpering and hiccupping from his screaming and crying. I held him close and ran my fingers through his now sweaty hair and I said this to him: “I love you Tony! I’m so sorry I lost my temper with you! I’m so sorry I swatted you and threw you on your bed! I love you so much! I was wrong to behave that way! No matter what you did or do, I should never behave that way! Will you please forgive me?” Tony looked in my eyes and using his best big grown-up voice, he said this: “I forgive you, Mommy! I don’t love what you did . . . but I love you!!”

My little guy heard those same words from me a time or two, and was now using my own words on me! If only I would learn to use God’s words rather than defaulting to my own sinful words and ways.

Dear Lord Jesus, thank you for loving me even when I disappoint you, thank you for forgiving me when I deserve a swat.  Thank you, Lord, for covering the stain of my sin with your blood. Please help me to act and react more like you.  I love you!