I want to be the mother with the messy house because she was too busy fingerpainting and reading and building a fort to get around to vacuuming today.
Instead I am the mother with the messy house because I’m too lazy to clean it most days.
I want to be the mother smiling at the chaos because I know these moments will be gone sooner than I can imagine.
Instead I am the mother adding to the chaos with screamed words and angry, impatient actions.
I want to be the mother whose kids talk to her because they know she is wise and trustworthy.
Instead I am the mother who tunes her kids out until they just stop talking.
I want to be the mother training her children by example to share, to be grateful, to speak kindly, to give, to pick up, to respect.
Instead I am the mother training her children by example to be selfish, to complain, to snap, to take, to leave everything lying around, to roll their eyes.
I want to be the mother confident in the role God has given her, knowing at least most of the time that most of her choices for the day were the right ones.
Instead I am the mother wondering what in the world God was thinking when He entrusted me with these sweet children, knowing most nights when I fall into bed that I have failed greatly.
I am okay with not being perfect.
I am okay with a messy house.
I am okay with moments of failure.
I am not okay with doing the wrong thing more often than the right thing.
I am not okay with a house so messy that there are no clean forks, no clean underwear, and the baby is eating yesterday’s breakfast off the floor for today’s afternoon snack.
I am not okay with failing so often every day.
He says His grace is sufficient. Even for me, and my imperfections and sins and selfishnesses and failings are who I am. At least who I am without Him.
I believe His Words. But always the disconnect. Never meeting even the easiest standards. Constantly knowing that I am missing out on precious time with my kids because I am too wrapped up in myself.
I can blame my busy life and my arthritis and all kinds of things for my failings, but the truth is they are my choices, most of the time.
The picture you have of me from reading my words here, from seeing what I post, it is incomplete. I do not seek to deceive you. Maybe I am trying to deceive myself. If I can make it look like my life is good, if I can hide the messes and post the pictures of my children being cute and compliant, then I can make myself look better. To me– to you.
But not to Him. And not to them, my sons and daughter, my husband. They deserve better than this.
And I try to change, to follow, to obey, to accept grace, to be the mother God wants me to be– I want to be.
And I fail.
Again and again I fail.
And sometimes I wonder if there’s any hope for me at all.
I have to believe there is.
Sufficient grace, right?
More grace. More grace.