Another mile

I was pulling out of the school parking lot at a crawl. It was a good day. We were there a few minutes early, so my three younger ones took off across the playground to find their friends during the pre-bell recess that happens every morning (usually without us, because we’re still on the way).

And I thought I saw something in my memory of my kids tearing across the playground. Did one of them get out without a coat? And why did my subconscious thoughts keep warning me that she had? Not being sure, I wheeled around and waited through the line of drop-off cars again to see. Sure enough, there she was with no coat, now hugging her arms with a concerned teacher standing nearby.

I parked and got out. As I walked over, I took off my coat, passing it over the fence to her. She willingly accepted. It would have been a sweet story — but she ended up breaking the zipper. And her own zipper the next day, and two more pairs of boots in the next week.

“And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles” (Matthew 5:41).

Friends, I have to be honest, I didn’t understand this verse until I became a mom. Who asks me for my coat? Who asks me to walk another mile? Who strikes me and I turn quietly to receive more?

Now, I understand. And so do you. And yes, we want our children to grow up to not take advantage of people — to be givers themselves. And yes, please teach your kids to not hit. This is not about parenting, this is about a weary momma’s heart that needs to quietly give — again.

Remember Jesus.

Here’s what I heard in teaching a few Sundays ago: When they asked Him to walk a mile, He walked up Golgotha. When they asked for (took) His cloak, He let them strip Him naked. When they struck His face, He turned and let them strike it again and again with mocking fists and laughter. Then rip out the beard. When they hung Him on a cross — asked for His very life — He turned and said, “Father, forgive them,” and gave it.

And now, risen, He asks us to take up our humble cross of motherhood. Someday, maybe, they will be thankful to us. But momma, it doesn’t matter. He saw you make their lunches in the grey dawn. He felt your sore feet as you slipped out of bed. He forgave your impatience and saw you work hard all day remembering all the things. Then He knew your weariness when you laid back down — and if you haven’t heard it today, hear it now: He quietly says, “Thank you.”

Thank you for carrying this load, serving these growing people. Thank you for living out His mission in the world on a tiny one, two, or three-kid scale. Because He's always with you. Every single extra mile. Even to the end of the time and beyond.

"And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me’" (Matthew 25:40).