Do everything without grumbling or arguing.
- Phililppians 2:14

This is one of the first verses I taught BooBoo, and I love to remind her of it. Frequently.

The thing about scripture verses is they have a funny way of popping up over and over and over again, to the point that it is statistically impossible for a person to be bombarded by the same small set of words with such intensity.

It happens anyway.

This round started over the weekend with a song: the same song I used to teach BooBoo the verse. It's a lively, cheerful little ditty sung by children. It's so annoying.

Just like any undesired tune that gets stuck in my head, it went 'round and 'round, looping incessantly and resulting in numerous attempts on my part to evict it.

But it wouldn't go away.

Then my husband said it. I can't even remember what the context was; all I could do was briefly recognize the words before that familiar feeling crept into my heart and mind. The feeling that implies, "Pay attention. I'm about to teach you something."

As usual, I quickly dismissed it (because I require God to hit me over the head with a sledgehammer).

Fast forward to Sunday morning: DH and I are sitting in church; we've just finished worship, and our Pastor steps up and proceeds to read Philippians 2:14-16.

Honestly, I didn't even hear verses 15 and 16. I was too paranoid about why this verse was in front of me yet again. I managed to focus on the rest of the sermon and chewed on it for the rest of the day, trying to understand what I wasn't seeing that God so clearly wanted me to see.

I just didn't get it. I felt like I had been doing a pretty decent job of not complaining, grumbling, or even arguing. I'm not perfect, but I've been getting better about holding my tongue. So what was He going for here?

At some point in the middle of the night, my brain must have finally opened itself to the truth, because when I woke, I was filled with a gentle awareness of the presented lesson.

It's not enough to hold my grumbling tongue; I also have to hold my grumbling thoughts. Grumbling thoughts steal my joy, and if I don't have joy, how can I let my light shine? How can I live life large?

I'd like to say that I smiled and basked in the glow of this beautiful truth, but I didn't. Nope, I panicked. I've been around this block enough times to know that next follows a series of "opportunities" to exercise my new found epiphany.

My first chance today (at least that I've recognized) occurred during a routine diaper change. I vaulted Truck onto the changing table and reached into the diaper stacker. Empty. Just to the other side of the table lay an open box of diapers, waiting to be transferred to their rightful place.

My usual thought in this situation goes something like, "Why do I always have to be the one to put them away?"

I caught myself about halfway through that thought. I took it captive, exhaled it out, and breathed in the Spirit. In that instant, it was okay to be lowly and do such a menial task.

I smiled and in that instant, I realized BooBoo had appeared at my side.

"Mommy, I would love to put away the diapers for you."

A lump developed in my throat, and I fought back tears that are still filling my eyes as I write this. I hadn't said a word, yet here was my 5-year-old daughter, eager and happy to serve me.

I've got a lot to learn from that girl.

Be prepared.

That's generally a good motto for any parent. Know your child, and be prepared.

For example, I know that my 2-year-old son is a neat freak when it comes to his hands and face. He absolutely cannot tolerate any stray food on his body, not even for a second. The sensation of foreign matter instantly sends him into a frenzy of screeching, "Nat-keens! Nat-keens!" (Napkin, but he really means a baby wipe.)

I should have remembered this last Sunday. What started as a family outing to GattiTown to celebrate the second anniversary of three of our baptisms, ended in one horrific moment of parental embarrassment.

We ate pizza, we played, and when we were all completely tuckered out, we decided to go for one last round of dessert before heading home.

Truck was eyeing BooBoo's chocolate pudding with interest, so I asked him if he would like some. "Puh-ing?" he gurgled happily in response.

Feeling happy and proud that my boy had successfully identified a member of his favorite food group, I gladly dished some up and began spooning it into his mouth.

"Mmmmmmmm."

Yay! He likes it! Pudding has calcium, right?

That's when it happened: right as I was feeding him another bite, he turned his head, distracted by the wall-sized TV screen playing one of those cartoon movies I never actually get to watch the whole way through. The pudding blobbed onto his cheek.

"Ugh," he said in disgust.

I giggled.

Big. Mistake.

There are many things I should have done, like tell him it was okay, tell him I'm getting a wipe, get the stinking wipe, and wipe it off his mouth. I should have had a wipe at the ready, for crying out loud!

But I didn't. I giggled.

In an instant he realized that not only had I failed to conjure a wipe, but I also was mocking him.

He slid off his chair, got on his hands and knees on the sticky, nasty floor, threw me a contemptuous look, and wiped his face on the floor.

Yup, score one point for me towards the Mother of the Year trophy.

My husband and I were both on our feet, jaws dropped, faces red, struggling to reach him through the jello-thick, slow-motion inducing air that always seems to appear at the worst possible time.

All we could do is laugh and detoxify him. Luckily, everyone around us laughed, too, and in that moment, I realized this was something we would be sharing with him when he has his own children someday.

I might break it out a little sooner, though. Like when he's a teenager and says that I'm embarrassing him.