If you were in my house today, you’d crunch graham crackers under your socks as you cross the kitchen floor. Then you’d lift your foot and find a pile of crumbs that I may or may not sweep before my children plow their Tigger riding train right through it.
If you were in my house today, you’d hear me barking at my kids to brush their teeth while I clank their empty cereal bowls on top of last night’s dishes still piled near the sink. Five minutes later, you’d hear me barking again while the toothbrushes stand dry in their cups and my kids beg for PEZ.
If you were in my house today, you’d trip over a heap of past-due library books my children still haven’t read. Tomorrow, we’ll return them to the library along with three dollars in fines, which I’ll have to borrow from my daughter’s piggy bank, raising my total promissory note to $162.
If you were in my house today, you could catch me snapping at my husband over some ridiculous, imagined offense that I’ll forget an hour later, after the damage is already done. I’m learning to love as God loves. But sometimes pride trips me up.
And if you were in my house today, you might detect a doorknob click as I lock myself in the bathroom to cry. Why? Well, why not. Too many deadlines on my desk, two dozen cupcakes to decorate for school, and we’re all running out of clean underwear. Sorry you had to see my drawer full of Zantac bottles and cherry-flavored Tums, my trusty warriors against another stress-induced stomachache.
Oh, and just a little tip when you walk in the living room—look up, not down. Or you might notice my carpet hasn’t been vacuumed in eight days, maybe nine. Okay, fine, ten. At least the cobwebs on the ceiling aren’t quite as glaring.
Then after a day or a minute in my house you might think, “Really? This girl writes devotions? She’s telling ME how to live? But her world is just as messy as mine.”
And you’d be right.
Which is exactly why I write devotions.
Because I need Jesus—desperately, day by day, hour by hour. And I know you need him, too. So I seek him in my ordinary wreckage, and I point you to him in yours.
“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me,” (2 Corinthians 12:9).
It’s taken me a long time to understand this, but I get it now. Our weaknesses are not something to hide.
They’re something to share.
Not only so we know we’re not alone in this family life juggling act, but also—especially—so that others can see the power of Jesus working in us. His grace gets me through the day. So if you enter my front door, you might find pretzel crumbs on the sofa and a preschooler still wearing pajamas at noon. But you’re welcome here. Because we all need open friends, kindred spirits, sisters who learn as much from our flaws as from our wisdom.
I’ve got lots of those flaws. You, too?
Come on in.
Because if you were in my house today, I hope and pray you’d find Jesus in the midst of it. Loving us, teaching us, forgiving us, and laughing—at the plastic zombie glasses my daughter insists on wearing to bed. Eh, I pick my battles. Now grab an apron and help me frost these cupcakes, amen?
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