My two boys live life at full speed, full volume, and with their full bodies. Sometimes when we are out in public, I worry about what they might do. When my oldest was 2, I took him to story time at the library. All the little girls sat nicely on their mommy’s laps listening to the librarian read. Then there was my son. He ran circles around the group. When he finished making everyone dizzy, he tried to figure out how the blinds worked on the windows. From then on, we did story time at home.

Another time, I let my youngest push the grocery cart at the store. While I searched the seemingly endless rows of cereal boxes for the one I needed, he took off running down the aisle-with the cart. And yes, he ran into someone else.

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After a long day of seesawing emotions, rivers of tears, and volcanic tantrums, my son was exhausted. I read him a story and tucked him in bed for the night. Amidst the crowd of his favorite blankets and cuddly stuffed animals, I squeezed in on the bed next to him.

I was disappointed by our difficult day and at my own failures to help him through it. I have learned that it is often in the quiet darkness, wrapped warm in his blue and red fire truck quilt, surrounded by all his favorite items, that his heart is most tender and his soul most bare. I snuggled with him, hoping to speak to him about the challenges of the day… to read the rest of this post, visit The Gospel Coalition, my writing home today.