I like to take care of business. I like a tidy house, a menu plan and a schedule. More than all those things, I like the sense of capability and satisfaction they give me. They say, “I’ve got this covered.” They say, “I’m a good wife, mother, friend.” They say, “See? I am worthy of love and attention.” I’ve always been a “good girl,” and often, it works.
Except of course, when it doesn’t.
When brokenness runs through a lifelong relationship like veins in marble, and weariness in it runs deeper still. When an illness in the family leaves hands empty and helpless. When these things press in and my calendars and lists and shiny floors show their impermanence and fragility.
Sometimes this produces panic in me– but lately, it is more like relief. I don’t have all the strength needed, the energy needed, the creativity needed, the grace needed, the courage needed, for these days, for this life.
But my Maker does. He has grace enough, love enough, mercy enough, and I can lean back into Him and rest and pray and be. My not-enoughness becomes invitation and gift. And in experiencing His grace, I can see more clearly other truths in my life. My husband and boys don’t love me because of what I do for them, they just want me to be here when they come home. They love me for me, and that understanding transforms the things I do for them back into blessing, rather than some misguided barter on my part.
My breakfast room faces east, and sometimes I come in to find that I have left the pendant lights on from our dim early breakfast, long after the sun has come blazing over the sill. The light bulbs look dim and faded in a room blazing with golden morning. In the presence of God, my little puppet ways of proving my worth fade into the wonder of being His beloved child.