Grace Comes Softly

I sucked the air out of the room again. They stare at me with a hurt and blank stare. Their memories of me not syncing up with this new red faced version of mother.

My yelling isn't insulting, there are no bad names flailing. But the tone. Oh the TONE.

I know immediately the wounds I have inflicted on their young fragile souls. Immediately.  The cracks and fractures that I have caused. They so small. Me so big. And LOUD.

And over what? Over a flooded toilet bowl. Over laundry only half done. Over mismatched socks and missing shoes.

My guilt is immediate. Followed closely by my shame. I pray. I wonder how on earth God has entrusted me with these children. What was HE thinking? Surely they will be on a couch somewhere in 15 years rehashing these loud mornings.

I pray some more.

I apologize. I cry. They cry. I ask forgiveness.


I've promised myself I will always ask forgiveness. Because, deep down I KNOW that they, seeing me in my humanness, working out my salvation with fear and trembling, me, muddling through this mess of motherhood, and teaching, and lack of holiness, these mess ups, and reconciliations are as much a part of showing them my need of a savior as any Bible verse I've ever read. Me showing me that long after the surrendering of my soul there is this sin. This nagging darkness that presses in. The lion that prowls around seeking to kill, steal and destroy.

With much hope, I pray that my need for a savior reminds them that they need a savior. That we all need a savior. RESCUE ME from ME!

I am not a theologian, but I do like theology. And there is this life lesson for me. Maybe for everyone? This desire to want to press on. This inner desire to look more and more like the Christ that has saved me. But, oh, how short I fall!

There is the me that I want to be. This great mother. This much-holier-than-I'll-ever-be mother. This bakes-cookies-from-scratch-with-all-organic-ingredients mother. Then there is the reality. This stands-in-the-kitchen-red-faced-LOUD-about-chores mother. This falls-short-more-often-than-not mother.                                                    

But, glory! There those children are. Are they smiling at me? Have they forgotten the wound I inflicted? No. This is grace. The Lords grace. They may not forget the LOUD, but they have forgiven and offered me another start. What? They are laughing!

Dear Lord, I know that I do not deserve their grace, and ultimately, I do not deserve YOUR sweet grace. But, I thank you for giving them their forgiving hearts. I pray each day for a new start.  A new beginning. A chance to be the mother you have called me to be. May you slay the evil one, blow by blow! Thank you for not giving up on me when I fail you, and when I fail them. Thank you, God for your Word. Your Word that shouts your GRACE from the pages!


Amen

A new post coming no later than Jan 26! Looky there! I have accountability!