Her hands freeze above the keys. Her tears run down her cheeks. Her song has come to an end. My patience has left with it. We find ourselves at a familiar impasse. 


There is no reason that I can see for this meltdown. But it doesn’t need a formal invitation. Gone is my sweet girl and the song she was so happily playing. In it’s place is a child who doesn’t care for me at all. I’ve seen this scene play out before. I know the script well, but I can’t find the off switch.


We will go through the motions like a dance. She will cry and say things she will later ask me to forgive. I will get angry and fight myself as I fight her to flee this misguided adventure into dark feelings that stand on empty boxes of anger, frustration, and despair.


There are no instructions for navigating these waters. My flesh wants it over. My flesh wants her to act in a way that is easy for me. I want peace in my home. I want joy and laughter not screaming and writhing. I want to hug her and take away any pain or anger.


But my hug only incites her.  She doesn’t want me now. She doesn’t want anything now.


She’s in her room and I’m on my knees. I know He sees this. I know He knows her thoughts and her heart in a way I could never know. I am mom, but he is Creator.


It’s quiet for a minute. I have to breathe deeply and go through what I know to be true. God will use this meltdown for good. He has promised that His strength is made perfect in our weakness. He assures us that nothing can stay His hand. We know that in Christ, nothing can separate us from Him. And these truths hold me for the moment. The dance isn’t over. Our solos of silence have to come to an end. I pray she will feel loved, cherished, and respected. I pray she will feel repentant over her sin and willing to forgive mine.


I don’t know what it will look like when she comes back downstairs, but even in the not knowing, I can entrust myself to the one who does know. The one who sees when we rise up and when we lie down. The one who assures us that even if we were to settle on the far side of the sea, He would hold us. I don’t know where this is, but it feels dark and deep and so to know He holds us is enough grace to endure this moment.