Thursday, July 30, 2009
There is safety in this morning drowsiness, the breathless working quiet in which the two-year-old is entertaining herself by moving her bedroom into the living room again. I almost ignore it, hoping not to disturb the delicacy of the morning mercies, too aware after yesterday's storm. Too embarrassed. Too human.
In one moment, I write and feel of trust and desire, and of God and relationship and hope and peace; yet in the next moment, I am raging woman, nearly late for a pediatrician appointment that brings a shot and a finger prick, calling poison control and demanding explanations from my daughter she can neither give nor understand. I spend the afternoon settling, trying to settle, hiding my desire to collapse into tears because I reached the end of my rope and fell off and climbed back up in anger.
My husband came home to work and his day was awful and I am part of that and I'm too ashamed of myself to make it up to him, so we talk for a while at dinner and I explain and he explains less and Piper makes us laugh together at her ride on a horse that is much too small for her. We go to bed early, after cleaning up disaster we planned to leave overnight. When we wake, the house is cleaned, vacuumed, swept, quiet, no lingering messes from yesterday.
Our toddler cuddles with me when she wakes, pushing near to feel my warmth. I hold and rock and hold my words around a sore throat and humiliated mother-feelings, still too tender from yesterday's failure. Gingerly, I move into the day unsure of my own desire to live it.
I prepare a snack for Piper - she is on a growth spurt, I think - and I cross the bridge from humiliation into humility, from my own fulfillment into morning mercy I could not ask. It is grace that I am given. My heart is coming clean, and I peek around my drowsy to say "I meant to do better," and He says "I know" and I couldn't do without Him at all.
A protected life is the life I want, a fully spiritual life in which I cannot sin, a padded room where there is no real need for humility or relationship or grace. But I am in the world, and it is humility and relationship and grace that sets me apart. I am drawn out into God's heart to be changed through knowing Him, yet I struggle in the world with me clinging to hope that He will finish His work as He said.
I do not do what I want to do, and I do many things I do not want to do, but all has been done before and it has all been finished at the Cross. I dwell on this and condemnation loses its grip in free forgiveness; my spirit is waking fresh into His life.
All is not lost.