Fire Prevention week is one of those fun, small town traditions that’s hard to understand and appreciate unless you’ve been a part of it. But in the little town I hail from, it’s a pretty big, stinkin’ deal. A whole week in October is centered around fire prevention activities. The firemen come to the schools and churches, and there’s a big banquet for the fire department in which the fire queen and her maids are presented. And then the best part. The fire prevention parade. School even lets out early for it. Growing up, we stood on the sidewalk in front of my friend Rachael’s house every year to catch candy and watch the firetrucks, floats, and marching bands parade on by. Priceless memories. 
Well, after years away from my childhood home, I feel like I’ve come full-circle. Because this year, my own child got to experience the fire prevention parade for himself. And from what I heard, he had himself a grand ol’ time. He loves nothing more than a good firetruck.
I’m really glad Luke got to have this fun experience that I’m thinking will become an annual tradition. Even though I was originally planning to be there with him, I’m glad he got to make this first-time-fire-prevention-memory with just my parents. I think it was a special time for all of them.
And, to be honest, it was a refreshing time for me. L spent most of the week with my parents, and it was a much needed break for this mama. Because, even though he’s all smiles in the pictures, real day-to-day life with a two year old is not all smiles all the time. I now understand why they call it “the terrible twos,” although I think “the difficult twos” might be more accurate. Not every day is terrible, but every day is difficult. Every day brings challenges. There is testing, there is whining, and there is extreme frustration when things don’t go his way. There is more moodiness than I would expect from a 13-year-old girl. There is a seeming inability to grasp the necessity of first-time obedience, regardless of the consequences he faces. Patience, loving correction, and consistent discipline often take more intentionality and strength than I feel I have to give. Most days, I’m just worn slap out.
BUT.
In the challenges, and in my moments of weakness and parenting struggles, God is faithful. His grace is there, and it’s always enough. It is sufficient for me, and I am shaped by the hard moments and days.
And God is kind to give us many precious, joyful moments peppered between those fits. A hug, a kiss, an “I love you, Dah-dee” {the way he says “daddy” sounds somewhat British, and it’s completely adorable}. Excitement, passion, and the twinkling of bright blue eyes. And every now and then, first-time obedience with a hearty, “Yes ma’am, Mommy!”
Though every moment is not fun, there is a deeper joy in the parenting journey we’re on with our little Luke. Joy in the good and the beautiful. Joy in the hard and the not-so-beautiful. The sovereign hand of our Father is faithfully weaving together the tapestry of our lives. Every thread of joy and hardship has it’s place. Nothing–not even the difficult twos– is wasted in this process of making us who He wants us to be.
Gospel-Shaped Womanhood 