The Best Love Story. Ever.

Speaking of baths, I had myself one today.  But what you won't believe is that Jesus took me with him into the empty tomb.  Hilarious, symbolic, lovely.  I know, kind of creepy at first.  Until you hear the rest of the story.  I just love how he does things.  Let me explain. 

I have been striving lately.  Working so hard at everything -- all the tasks associated with life & motherhood.  You know the list: meal-making, butt-wiping, diaper-changing, house-cleaning, meal-planning, laundry-washing, playdate-planning, workout-going, discipline-giving, constant-nursing, nap-coordinating, preschool-activity-planning, Bible-storying, airplane-ride-giving, Scripture-learning, special-time-spending, spontaneous-day-planning, regular-routine-planning, hair-combing, teeth-brushing, doctor-appointment-making, bath-giving, potty-training, family-photograph-outfit-coordinating, closet-cleaning, subsequent-clothing-bin-organizing, home-improvement-coordinating, and goodwill-donating -- and don't forget the cheerful attitude amidst it all.  I sigh to Sweet Husband about these tasks and how I feel weighed down somehow.  Sweet Husband reflects.  Then he offers this advice, "Sweetie, maybe there's a way to cut a corner or two?"  I look at him curiously.  Cut a corner?!  What does that even mean?  (You must remember I don't know how to do anything except with intensity).  Sweet Husband mutters something about how if he stayed home with the kids, he would put them in the playroom with the gate up.  Then he would throw a bunch of blankets and fishy crackers in there and call it good.  I don't think he was kidding. 

The thing about the blanket and fishy cracker idea is this.  First of all, child protective services.  I get it.  Ok, next.  I think what I picked up on from Sweet Husband was freedom.  I knew I didn't have any.  While the fishy cracker and blanket idea was preposterous, I could tell Sweet Husband was not bound in the same shackles as me.  That familiar, not-so-friendly-friend named Guilt was there to blame me when I cleaned because I should be spending more time with my kids.  When I spent more time with my kids, Guilt was there to remind me of my very long and ever-growing to-do list.  In the midst of it all, if I wasn't joyful, happy every second, experiencing a blissful utopia in being with my kids constantly, Guilt was there to remind me of how ungrateful I must be, for many mothers don't have the luxury of staying home with their children.  If I left my children with Sweet Husband in the evening to replenish my soul by visiting with a girlfriend or (gasp) browsing through Target without an agenda, Guilt was there to convict me of every purchase, no matter how conservative, and to remind me that a good mother would never want to leave her children, especially in the hands of some fishy cracker-doling dad.  Certainly, a "good" mother would not need a break from a 3-year-old, 2-year-old, and 5-month-old.  She is supposed to be treasuring every moment.  While I deep-down knew that Guilt was there, I had no idea how to be released from its tight shackles. 

Somehow Guilt had snuck into my party uninvited.  Shame too.  Boo.

Well, Shabby Mamas, the day I realized it was when I did not have joy or lightness in approaching my day with the kids.  It all felt heavy, dark, and well, depressing.  This is when we all need to pause and realize, "Wait a minute.  This isn't God."  Precious discernment is often the first casualty in the blur of parenting young children. 

Here's what happened.  I felt God invite me to spend time with him and sort it all out.  It was subtle, and I could have easily missed it.  But I suppose my misery and desperation made me more open or aware of it.  It was unmistakably God, who wanted to meet my heart and help.  Some days are just like this -- easy to find him.  I determined that once all the kids were down for their naps, I would lie on my bed, X-body style.  You know, arms and legs completely extended, flat on my bed.  I always start the time the same way:  "Jesus, show me where to start."  A feeble prayer, but totally a Shabby Mama sort of prayer, and I am confident one of his favorites. 

Instantly, he showed me a powerful picture.  I was in shackles next to horrific figures called Guilt, Shame, Condemnation, Depression, Self-Hatred, and Anxiety.  I looked around in horror to find myself a prisoner to these things.  I was speechless and felt powerless to become free of them. 

In a moment, Jesus reminded me that all I need to do was call upon his Name.  I still felt powerless to do it.  He playfully reminded me, "You can ask me for help."  A-ha.  Yes, that's right.  You're the Savior and defeated all this ugliness 2,000 years ago.  Kay.  Here we go.  I asked for help, and in his name, they were gone.  Just like that.  Instantly, I saw the brightest place you could imagine.  It was like going from the darkest room where you literally see nothing in front of your face, to the glaring sunlight, where you have to shield your face with your hands.  The contrast was staggering.  I was captivated by the BIG-ness of God.  His majesty.  And then, in a flicker, he was back down to normal size, and seated next to me.  Inside the empty tomb.  He looked at me and said, "This is where death became life."  And then, right there, he spoke the words my heart so desperately needed, like the rush of cool water to my parched soul: 

"Dawn, you are ALREADY everything I had ever hoped you would be." 

You have got to be kidding me, Jesus.  You mean, all these years, the striving, the quest for achievement, even for you... all of that means nothing to you?  But what about all that I did for you?  What about the times that I even ministered in your name or got lost in your presence? 

His answer to this was quite simple. 

All that I had ever hoped you would become was Mine. 

He has this way of shutting me up with his grace.  Speechless, dumbfounded, amazed.  The Gospel of Grace is so incredibly un-worldlike that it leaves us confused.  When he says these things to me, I feel like I've been reading the Bible upside-down my entire life.  But here's the thing.  I needed him to say it again.  And again.  And again after that.  Because that's how my heart changes and gets it a little more on this layer of the onion. 

So, he's my precious Valentine.  It's all about him today and everyday, not about my silly attempts to escape his grace.  I keep forgetting.  I am just a Shabby Mama on the shelf.  My ears are disheveled, and the soft, pink satin is wearing through on my tummy.  But what I do like is my reflection.  I think he prefers it, too.  It's starting to look a teensy-weensy more like his. 

Let's all ask Jesus what he thinks of us today.  I can't wait to hear what he says to you, his special Valentine. 

Here's a song to get you started.  xoxo