The Rebel

The Rebel

His hand, the size of my palm
The curly locks need trimmed
His yes sparkle with mischief
The clothes are a little unkempt.

As he wakes each morning
Til he lays down to slumber
My boy will involve himself completely
In many different types of blunders.

My subvert will creep along
Creating the most awful mess
Crayon marks on Bibles and books
Causing me an abundance of stress.

Towers broken to pieces
Picture frames cast down on the floor
Clothes thrown into the filled tub
My patience is rocked to the core.

Tears will well-up inside
As he doesn't get to eat what he wants
Fists pound hard on the table
For what he wants to eat for lunch.

All day long, the interruptions come
While on the phone, he needs a snack
No, I can't feed the baby,
He wants his juice - just like that!

Invariably my rebel waits
To drive me mad with his demands
With his endless destructive ways,
With his "nos!" at the turn of every hand.

My miniature rebel needs to obey
Cries my restless heart
No, he needs more than that
Punishment is only a part.

My wee-little rebel needs grace.
A holy God He has offended.
More than to be exiled,
He needs his own tiny heart mended.

Chastisement must be married to love.
My pint-sized rebel deserves the gallow,
But has been granted pardon instead
And my hands are there to endow.

As he terrorizes the cat
And wets, with tears his face
My delicate rebel will be given
A reprieve; a measure of love and grace.

The Grace extended to me,
Came while I was still a rebel
And the Love that sustains me,
Is administered to a pride-filled prodigal.

Let God's grace fill me.
Let it cover my life.
So that I may bestow it on my son,
Showing love, in the midst of strife.