I keep seeing these PSA commercials talking about "It gets better." Believe me, in many aspects our issues have improved and I am fully aware that my son could be setting the house on fire or hurting small animals. His heart is full of love. And insecurity. And doubt. And fear. It could be so much worse, I know. I know it could get better too. That's that thing called hope, right?
Hope that my kid will stop breaking stuff. That my mini van won't have ink drawings on the interior. Hope that I will find the matches to all my flip flops. Hope that Etienne will find His God and his worth.
Yesterday he took a pair of his brother's glasses and broke them in half. In front of that brother and me. I told him it was time to rest, no more play. His response to me (with some very, very loud yelling) was "I think when I am bad that no one loves me."
Ugh. In that moment and that situation, I am pretty confident that he said this statement to get a reaction out of me. To manipulate. Manipulation is a great defense when you've been unloved and left behind. But I'm only about 90% confident that he didn't mean it. What if he did? This is my constant fear since the moment I started trying to wrap my brain around how to discipline this child. There isn't a moment that Molly or Blake have ever doubted my love for them. Yet every day, this boy still believes that my love is conditional. It gets better. It gets better.
The LORD your God is with you,
he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
he will quiet you with his love,
he will rejoice over you with singing."