I've had my fair share of mommy meltdowns recently. Following a trail of cereal up the stairs and into a bedroom I just recently cleaned definitely set the stage for a melodrama. Toddler tantrums, bed times that drag on and on and on, mediating between aggrieved brothers and sister, struggling to be consistent with disciplining, schooling, training, teaching, feeding, cleaning. Battles of the will with a very strong willed three year old and one stubborn eighteen month old. Second guessing my ability to give my oldest the best education possible. My heart breaking every time my middle son struggles with stuttering. And all of their issues make me feel like I must be failing as a mother. I've let their behavior become my report card. I forget sometimes that we're born into this world as sinners. I forget sometimes that God doesn't expect us to be perfect. So I shouldn't either. He only expects us to be pliable, to be clay in His hands. To know when to repent and how to walk in His grace.
I had meltdowns. I acted imperfectly. I yelled at my kids. And then I crawled into bed with them and held them close and asked their forgiveness and asked God's forgiveness and prayed for the fruit of the Holy Spirit to be abundant in my life. And their little arms wrap around me, so quick to forgive, so free of judgement. So like Jesus.
His grace comes. Right where I am.
Delivered to my doorstep. A package of red roses from a man who loves me, who didn't lecture me for losing it, didn't judge, didn't criticize. Just sent me roses.
Grace is a beautiful thing.
Undeserved. Unmerited. God reaching down into my mess and loving me in the midst of it.
Grace is God's ability to do within me what I cannot do for myself.