Sunday Worst: Parent-Child Privilege

Dropping my five-year-old daughter at camp for her second day, a counselor leaned into me and said, "Just want you to know we LOVE her. She's so great. We just love her." I smiled politely, replying, "I'm so glad," and walked away shaking my head in bemusement.

The morning had not gone especially well. Phrases like, "No!" "Well I don't caaare," and "I don't haaave to" and "I hate you. You don't love me." were the standard conversational fare from the time Nika woke up to the time I dropped her off at Camp Hoover. This scenario is rather typical. My daughter is complimented on a regular basis for her polite manners and cooperative spirit in public settings or in the homes of new friends. Yet with those who know and love her best, my girl tests up the wazoo. I know she's turning out okay. She feels safe enough to test her burgeoning independence and free will with those who love her no matter what, but she's equipped to go out into the world with a loving spirit and saavy attitude.

So why try to bring God our best on Sundays? Why not instead exercise the parent-child privilege of bringing God our WORST on Sundays? Our most defiant stomps and talk-backs, our hugest heresies. Our looming doubts, rebellious clothes -- in fact everything that needs to be brought to the light, understood, validated, and directed positively.

After all, if our kids get to do it to us, why not take advantage of the parent-child privilege with the Greatest Parent of all? If even an anxious, egocentric, over-intellectualizing, impatient mother like me gives it her best shot, I'm betting my Parent (and yours) surely can handle our worst and channel it grace-fully to bring out our best.