I actually don't love you.

Those were the words that came out of my 3 year olds mouth yesterday, "I actually don't love you." I know it was bound to come one day, but I wasn't really prepared for it to be so soon.

Denzel and I have not been seeing eye to eye. That's really the nice version. It feels like there's an ongoing battle in my home with him. I'm sure if I talked to or observed other homes with three year olds I wouldn't feel so bad. But because he's my first, it feels like a lot to me. A lot of whining. A lot of crying. A lot of doing exactly what I asked him not to do. A lot of pushing limits. A lot of stuff I can't handle after being on vacation and coming home to all three other family members being sick (the boys and Patrick, thankfully I'm still healthy). And if there's one thing that gets me every time, it's his high-pitched voice whining about taking the apple skin off. I paid a lot of money for that organic apple skin! Or asking why he can't touch his sick brother's face. That's how you two got sick to begin with! I can't stand the whining and crying.

So yesterday we were at it again. I say we because I understand I have a part in this too. I know I could try to be more patient. In the moment, that is not how I feel though. So we fight, and quickly I change my attitude. Then it's something new. We make up. And something new again. It's constant. Last night he was in bed and I was explaining something to him and he said softly, "I don't like you." Then whispered, "I don't love you."

::Insert dagger in heart here:: I looked at him and said, "Denzel, I know you and I aren't getting along sometimes. You get frustrated because I tell you not to do something, and I get angry when you don't listen to me. But no matter how angry I get or how frustrated you get, we always love each other. Okay?" He looked at me and said, "k." I gave him a big hug and said goodnight, and that I loved him. Then I walked out.

I all but bawled when I walked out of his room. I didn't let him see how hurt I was, but that is maybe the deepest wound a person has ever inflicted on me. I think I could have let it bounce off easier if he said it in anger. If he had yelled that he hated me, somehow that would be more typical? But it wasn't that. He spoke his mind, and it was very matter of fact. He even whispered it. I came out and told Patrick what had happened, and how hurt I was. He went in there and talked to Denzel for a while. Then D came and said, "Mommy, I actually love you." I had to laugh because he says "actually" in every sentence these days, and this time it sounded particularly funny. We made up and were good for the night. And I still love my boy.

There's something incredible about the love between a mom and her child. And I feel like I got a glimpse, albeit very small glimpse, of how God feels when I don't love him. I kept thinking, "I do so much for him. I'd give my own life for that child. He has no idea how much he's hurting me right now." Of course the Lord knows what I'm feeling. Jesus already gave his life for me. And I still do my own thing. I still choose with my actions to say I actually don't love you.

Parenting is hard. And I wonder if God allows us to be parents to more fully understand the relationship He has with us. So I'll try to remember that the next time he kicks the soccer ball in the house and hits his brother--that if I could extend mercy to my son, as it's been done for me, we'd all be better off.