“Mom, you know what sin is, so don’t do it.” She says this to me after I’ve lost my temper. Failure, again. When I apologize, I can’t help the tears. The kids have hardly ever seen me cry. I’m not a public crier. “Mom, you teasing?” asks my three-year-old. No. Mommy’s sin struggles are no joke. Making good choices is hard, I tell them.
And this is discipleship: the working out of our salvation that happens within the community of a family. It’s like lifting a stick that’s three times your body length. It’s heavy. Your hands are pierced with splinters. You’re thrown off-balance by the weight of it.