It was a Thursday night.
My oldest son had been begging me for over a week to spend the night in his fort, and I, in all my hormonal craziness, decided to let him do it.
So, there I found myself, in my giant fluffy sherpa-bear pajamas, building a fort. And mind you, this isn’t the normal, chairs-and-sheets kind of fort. For Christmas this year, my hubby and I found these fort building kits that are an assortment of poles and balls which when thrown together magically (AKA my husband acting as the master builder) create an awesome fort that you just throw a sheet over. He thinks these are God’s gift to parents, with unlimited things you can build and unending possibilities for fun.
But as I, the literary geek, the Netflix-obsessed, not-so-handy, not-so-nitty-gritty, mom attempted to rebuild the five-star igloo my husband had built the day before in our room down the hall, I was thinking all manner of things about these fort supplies, none of which gave God any credit for their design.
I sent my children from the room (loudly, yikes), locked myself in there, and began work on the blasted thing. I huffed, I puffed, I sweated profusely and nearly cried. The only reason I wasn’t swearing at this point was because all I could muster was grunts and groans as I heaved myself around trying to fit poles into holes, piece by piece. Just as I would finally have one set, the one next to it would pop out. Lord, help.
All the while, I was thinking to myself, “I am so the worst boy mom ever.” There I was, huffing and puffing my way through a fort endeavor, not even including the child it was for, and not enjoying one bit. Good heavens, give me hair to braid or a recipe to bake and consider it done. Hand me plastic poles and foam balls, and I am rendered absolutely useless!
But most thankfully, my heavenly Father is not only one with endless mercy, but also a great sense of humor. I can’t help but think He was probably chuckling as He watched me fight a losing battle with those pieces, and yet delighting because there I was trying so hard to bless my little man with something so far outside my area of comfort.
In the end, the fort was built (wasn’t pretty), my son told me he was so proud of my work (he could see I needed a little affirmation after that), and I basically told him not to move or breathe once he was inside.
He huddled up with his book, his lantern, and his favorite blanket. He lasted in there until about midnight.
I may feel like the worst boy-mom ever, but I know that God doesn’t see it that way. He knew exactly what He was doing in giving me my boys, and through all the crazy, hard, and hilarious moments, He’s bringing me deeper and making me more like Him.
Forts may not come easily, I’ll probably never love bug-hunting, and I really enjoy all manner of pink hair accessories. But God chose me to be their mom, and I wouldn’t trade one crazy, gross, or loud moment of it.
