Trust and honor swirl around like a cloud in our home. I hear myself, “Trust me, Buddy.” It rolls off of the tongue easily. It is meant to calm – to be a balm in stressful times.
But I wonder. Do I deserve that trust?
I wouldn’t trust a woman who tells you to fold and put away clothes, when hers have been sitting in the laundry basket upward of 10 days.
Or the countless times when littles are asked to speak the truth, guilty eyes look up at me and instead of showing compassion I lash out in anger because clearly I have been duped, deceived, lied to.
But in order to rise to that word we speak of, the word that is supposed to transform our house from bickering and complaining to submission and preferring . . . that word honor, I fail to show it.
I hate myself. I’m going to run away. I wish I was never born. I want Daddy.
I’m sorry. I was wrong. Mommy made a mistake and I ask you to forgive me. Though I sinned, I want you to know that sometimes I have to discipline you . . . even punish you . . . so that you know I keep my word.
I will do what I promise to do.
I want you to trust me.