My oldest prompts me on a regular basis. Sometimes multiple times a day.
He's lived with me long enough to know when I'm nearing my breaking point, and he knows the routine.
"Yeah, let's pray, Si."
We stop, hold hands, bow our heads, and he says a quick, heartfelt prayer that God would "help Mama not to be frustrated." My heart echos each and every simple word.
If it's one thing my oldest knows, its the undeniable truth that I am incapable of mothering in my own strength.
I used to go and hide and cry and whisper prayers behind closed doors.
But then it hit me. He needs to know. He needs to see.
Obedience is impossible. Patience is unattainable. Joy cannot be mustered up.
I need Jesus.
And my children need to see.
Because they need Jesus to.
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