Measure His Grace

Pete woke me early this morning. I had asked him to consider waking me around six so I could have a little time for myself, start the day as a morning person again, the way I used to do. That extra hour and a half makes a huge difference on my day. I don't wake up feeling defeated because I missed my early window. I don't resent the sun so much as I normally do for being up hours before I wake.

I've never really been a "quiet time" person. My intentional times with God seem to happen spontaneously - our relationship is pretty dynamic. I suppose you might say I take advantage of His omnipresent access and keep a pretty current line going with Him. Perhaps this is praying without ceasing. Or walking with God. I'd like to think so, anyway.

I pulled my journal out this morning, almost appalled that it has been over a year since I last wrote. I trip over myself in writing sometimes, too afraid of my own embarrassment over what I have written, forgetting that writing is for me a large part of becoming. I wrote five pages today, in small print, with no particular topic or goal, no deep truth to discover. I just dumped the words with pencil onto paper and laid it out. I even wrote a bit of a letter to God, a more coherent prayer than the heaven-aimed emotion I've directed His way lately.

As I wrote, a question surfaced: "Why is so much of life a 'being where we are' as we wait for Him to move in us?"

And I think it is because this is what it is to grow in grace. It is not that I need more grace than I have already in Christ; it is that I wait for His work in my heart knowing how far short I fall, knowing that even in my failure, Jesus completes me so that I may rest in the Lord.

I've been so overwhelmed lately. Every day, I wake up, determined to try again to be a better wife, a better mom, a better person. Most days, I'm so tired, I can barely get through the day, let alone make the investment I want to make in my personal goals. I've been very close to giving up recently. I've wished I didn't have to care about Pete and Piper and Button, wished I didn't have to take care of myself every day, wishing I could just forget about eating another meal, taking another pill, showering, doing anything with my hair, getting dressed.

I am not who I want to be. I am not what I feel I need to be. It is hard for me to fall into grace this way, weak and struggling. I'm embarrassed to present what little I have and hope that it will somehow be enough for Piper to know she is loved, for my husband to know he is loved. I hope God will be able to make something of it, because I am at the end of me, all the time.

Grace that sustains me in my weakness - that is the daily bread for which I long. Most days, I don't get around to asking very coherently. I sometimes think of grace as "time." Time to grow, to be, to struggle, to wonder at the patience of the One who is changing me into His image, perfecting me beneath the covering blood of Jesus.

Sweet gospel that offers such time and rest and grace, that I may know Him even in my weakness and foolish imperfection. It is Life, measured daily in that eternal sphere only my spirit comprehends, that time outside of time where God lives and works and frees and changes me.

And strangely enough, I've been moved to real praise of late, praise that comes from a place in me I didn't create and don't always understand, praise and honor for His Godness, for the transformation He is working in my heart, for the gift of Him He has given to me, for the working of His will and the hope of His return that draws my fears into His Love.

Today, I'm dressed and my daughter is dressed. Our house is picked up, and our beds are made. Breakfast has been made and eaten, and my pills have been taken. Button is happily kicking away at me, hoping I will unbutton my jeans and give the baby more room, I am sure.

I hope to continue my early mornings. I don't want to plan what I will do every day; today I had time to measure His grace. I needed that.

(image from sxc)