I think teaching my children 'sweet revenge' is important, apparently

A couple of months ago I was hanging out in the church nursery with Desmond (yes, I said I was hanging out in the nursery, this is strange in itself but so the story goes). Des and I were passing the time before big-kid school pickup and we played Sorry.

I remembered Sorry being this terrible game when I was a child, but somehow, in the church nursery that quiet afternoon, it was fun. And whenever I can find something to do with my kids that doesn’t involve a screen  (or a mess) I’m all over it.

So Desmond asks for Sorry from Santa, Santa obliges, and I am now reminded that Sorry is a terrible game that involves long, drawn out play and much hysteria-inducing revenge.

It was no surprise that Sorry was the source of crisis yesterday afternoon. The babysitter, because she’s awesome, played it down for me, saying it was just a bit of “trouble” and Charlie was up in his room “getting some space.” (Side Note: all babysitters should talk like that even if kids screamed the entire time. When mom’s away from the house, as long as no one is bloody, WE DON’T WANT TO KNOW.)

Charlie tumbles down the stairs and words tumble from his mouth. Trouble and sweet revenge and justice color his cheeks. It seems there was a rule infraction while I was away. Voices were raised. Pieces were thrown. Games were forfeited. And Charlie retreated to his cave room, for the duration of the afternoon, where he probably played out the infraction, over and over, slowly building and rebuilding his case until it was air-tight. And so, he emerged, ready to lay out his sixteen-point arguement on why he was, in fact, correct.

Charlie is the poster child for firstborn stereotypes. He is a lover of rules and regulations. He loves black and white and rejects all grey. He loves punctuality and bylaws and all things crystal clear. When the rules are stated he can learn them, memorize them, abide by them, and keep the earth spinning by keeping himself right.

But for the first time in a long time, or maybe ever, he was actually wrong. And although he detailed all sixteen points of his reasoning, my deep grasp of Sorry intricacies trumped him. You had it wrong, I said. That’s not the rule, I said. Enter earth-shattering realization. His face went from resolute to disbelief to grief. And then, my always-stoic boy…he crumpled and began to cry.

I was wrong, he said. I hurt Cami, he said. At this point my heart has split open and poured out all over the floor. This is the moment I’ve yearned for, because my dear, beloved, oldest son is much like the eldest son that Jesus spoke about, the one who follows the rules and is right and becomes hardened by his right-ness. And for the first time in his nine year old life, I saw the remorse and regret, laying across his shoulders. He was wrong.

Enter Cami. Charlie’s tears were more than she could bear, and she began her own five-alarm lament. If you don’t know what “wailing” sounds like, well, now I do.  Sometimes girls find crying contagious, and this was a fast-spreading bacteria. I threw the pieces!! she wailed, I hurt Charlie!! she weeped. This level of honest remorse was also uncharacteristic for my justification-loving middle child. At one point they formed a mini-crying duet, which Cami saw as the perfect opportunity to throw herself into Charlie’s arms. This stunned and alarmed him and he returned to nine-year-old boy mode, shoving her off and wiping his eyes.

But before the moment could pass, I folded them both into an embrace. In a moment of real mother joy, I got to tell them about being wrong. About the fact that I am wrong ten or one hundred times a day. About why Daddy and I argue in the kitchen, because much like the Sorry game, we are both sure we are right. But, just like them, we are both a little wrong, most of the time. And I told them that’s why we love Jesus, because he can right our wrong-ness.

We get lost. We wander. We need guidance. We need forgiveness. We need a hug. We need grace. Galatians 3 reminds us that even if grace is what got us to love Jesus in the first place, we will be tempted to become perfect by our own effort. And every day that we experience the burden of our wrong-ness is an opportunity to experience the freedom of God’s righteousness.

So today, I’m thankful for a fight, tears, repentence and grace, captured in a three-way hug.