A day of grace

These days. These mornings start before I even realize it.
I wake up over the coffee grinder, my fingers already at work. It struck me again.
Before she fully woke up, my two year old was already asking for chocolate milk.
My husband’s workload has been wearying. I mean, in this “economic crunch” we shouldn’t complain.
But we both know there is more to life than work. And money. And this crazy, crazy rat race.
People are what matters, and we are keenly aware of that.
But this morning I saw the weariness in his step as he again headed out the door.
To work. Alone, this time. A bit demoralizing. At least I would think so.

But this thing. It keeps bumping into me.
This realization that the lives around me do depend on me.
Sure, for supper made, laundry done,
and a house that speaks of someone who appreciates order and cleanliness.
But the dependency is for so much more. They need me to be good home base.
A neutralizing attitude about things that can get us all wound up.
Consistency. A calm and content outlook.
They need me to roll with the punches instead of getting all worked up.

But that’s just the thing. I DO get worked up.
I fight this feeling of frustration when things accelerate out of my control.
When the bread gets crumbled over my freshly vacuumed carpet.
When through some oversight I wasn’t informed that I am in charge of a social gathering’s menu. Tonight.
When another pair of his perfectly good pants get hung up in the prickly branches of my toddlers favorite climbing tree.
When the bed is wet. Again.
You see; responsibilities as a mommy are never ending.
We don’t leave work behind us. We are on call 24/7.

“I can’t. I simply cannot be all everyone needs me to be.” It was there.
I didn’t want to feel it, but this morning it was there.
But there was also this still small voice, speaking in the helplessness.
“No, you weren’t made to be. You were made to be empty so that what comes out of you will be me.”
The empty vessel. The dry channel. We’ve all heard the illustrations. And they all sound like a cliché.
Way over used.

But the truth struck me. The words that come out of my mouth can be his.
The thoughts that run through my head aren’t limited to what I’ve always thought.
And the motives of my heart can be renewed, cleansed and sanctified.
It was a delicious moment of discovery.

This morning, as the host of responsibilities sang a chorus around me, the strongest voice of all, was comforting.
It beckoned me to dive into what seemed an endless mass of demands, and discover under it all the beauty of being dependant on someone else for my reactions. There, under it all, I find a tremendous peace in resting in Him. Sure, my hands will be busy in dishwater and organization, but my heart has found a place of quiet. A place where it is okay not to be strong, but in that same moment I find his strength more than enough.

I once heard “grace” described as “God’s actions poured through a human being” or something like that. And it filled my heart with this stunning picture of our breathtaking God choosing to pour himself through humans. In spite of us, because of who HE is.

So here’s to your day of grace. And mine.

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