The other day I was driving over to Brent's parent's. He had worked with his dad all day on a project, and Blythe and I had held down the fort at home. We were going to meet up for supper.
Blythe has always been pretty darn great in the car. She needs very little entertainment, and I think she could have cared less if we would have left her rear-facing. Other stay-at-home moms will understand this, but when Dad is gone on Saturdays, those can be pretty long days. I was happy to strap her in the car and take off when the time came because 1. Being in the car with her is pretty much like being by myself most of the time and 2. We were headed to find her dad!
So off we went. I popped in a current favorite worship CD, she happily looked out the window, and we each had a little chill time. We were getting close to our destination and I was pretty into the music. For some reason, after a long week and with the sun shining in our van, the words to worship song were really striking me. I don't know about you, but when this happens, I just gotta worship a little. I didn't even really think about it and was singing and put my palm in the hair in a bit of praise to how good my God is.
I glanced in the review mirror. What did I see? A little girl who was watching her mama oh-so-closely. Blythe's little palm was extended out in the air.
In the moment, it was more than I could take in: the goodness of my God who I couldn't help but worship, the beauty of the day, and a little girl who was watching me.
As the tears filled my eyes, I realized the significance of what was happening. It was a reminder to me. It was a reminder that I have little eyes and ears on me at all times. She may not have understood what her crazy mother was doing, waving her hands around as she drove, but she did it too.
She will do what I do, mimicking me without thinking. She will say what I say, how I say it. One day, she will become a teenager [which I think will happen tomorrow at the rate time is moving], and she won't want to be like her mom. But she will be. Somewhere inside, she will be. And I pray that there are more moments of hands raised in praise than nagging and facebooking and gossiping. I pray that she sees me worship more often than I criticize. I pray that she sees me speak love more often than I choose to be unkind.
And I pray her mother will remember the little black-brown eyes that watch me from the backseat.
Oh be careful little eyes what you see.
Oh be careful little ears what you hear.
Oh be careful little hands what you do.
Oh be careful little feet where you go.
Oh be careful little mouth what you say.