By Elizabeth Pak (25), Ballard campus
I cannot say that I had a peaceful upbringing. Although my parents tried their best, my childhood was marked by a lot of anger and frequent turmoil. This experience left me with a strong determination that when I became a mom I would never repeat the same sins with my own children. Becoming a Christian only strengthened my resolve.
I was so thankful for Jesus, but so prideful that he had saved me. I thought that once I had his righteousness I would not only be free from sin but free of sin. I thought that being a new creation meant that I was a new sinless and perfect me. I would have perfect friends and a perfect house; a perfect husband in a perfect marriage. Most of all, I would be a perfect mom. I would not make the same mistakes my mom made. I would be different because I had Jesus.
Then I started having these moments. Moments when I was so annoyed with my kids I just wanted to drop them off at the first daycare that would take them. Moments when I was overwhelmed and secretly blaming my dirty kitchen on my toddler because she was so conveniently underfoot. The dreaded moments when I became one of "those" moms, losing it in the driveway and thinking to myself, "I hope no one is watching this because then they will know how un-perfect I am. Gee, that would really ruin my witness." There were so many of these moments, it got to a point where I couldn’t ignore them anymore.
I panicked. My worst nightmare had come true: I had become my mother. I had inherited her sinful nature and was a rotten excuse for a parent. Even if I happened to avoid some of the potholes she fell into, well, never fear I’d succeeded in inventing all new ways to screw up in replacement. I began to wonder: is history doomed to repeat itself? Is this the legacy I am bound to leave my children? How can Jesus change my story? How can my journey be different from my mother's?
Cue another one of those moments. A crying baby, a bathtub full of blue water, and a toddler with that guilty smirk on her face. I start in on another long-winded rant with my little girl. Berating my child for being childish. In the middle of it all, my daughter looks at me with tearful eyes, and instantly I feel that gentle tug of conviction on my heart.
Groaning inwardly, I take my daughter up in my arms and wrap her in a warm towel. We snuggle up together on the couch, my baby boy on one side, my darling girl on the other. I look her square in the eyes.
"I'm sorry," I say. "Mama is sinning against you in her anger. I should not have yelled at you when you poured your blueberries in the bath tub. Can you forgive me?"
She pulls her thumb out of her mouth long enough to mumble: "Yes, Mama."
"I love you."
"Losh you."
I listen to her brother coo against my arm and think: This is the sanctification that is only possible in Christ. This is the kind of forgiveness and reconciliation that my mom and I never had. Yet by God's grace I can now experience it with my own children.