Grace and Tacos

The phone rang today not twice, but three times from the school. One call was the nurse; Mrs. Angela and I have become good friends and I start to miss her when she hasn't reported to me about scrapes, falls, and cuts.

The other call was from a teacher.

He can't hold it together. Slammed a door. Argued with me.

The third call was from him. I could hear her teaching in the background.

I had to call because I was drawing in class instead of listening.

The day ended with him and a friend tripping over each other and having recess taken away.

So many details, my brain hurts trying to untangle the why's.

Can you come up and eat lunch with me?, he asked through tears. I'm having a bad day.

A quick run to the local taco place, and there we sat, talking about self-control and what it means to handle our emotions. How they can be like a volcano if we don't manage our fear and frustration and hurt.

I was talking to myself as much as to him. Across that lunch table, I saw myself in his expression and his love of anything inside a tortilla, but also in the way he takes on all of life like a weight.

I reminded myself of the doors I've slammed, the words I've said, the anger I've spewed. How wrong I've been in my refusal to deal with issues and relationships and confusion.

And I thought maybe for him discipline was the answer, but maybe grace more so. If there's one thing I've learned in managing this house of loud, it's that all too often they are mirroring my own temper and reaction. So rather than lashing out and responding to their character, maybe it's more about learning together how to have self-control and patience and a calm spirit.

Sometimes consequences are the answer. And sometimes, the answer can be found in sharing tacos on a Wednesday afternoon surrounded by grace.