The Perfect Mess

Her blond hair clung in sweaty strands against her forehead as the tears spilled from her eyes, leaving red stained cheeks and the sign of a bruised heart.  My patience had worn thin and I’d sent her to time out.  One minute for each year of age, isn’t that the rule of thumb?  Four minutes must have seemed like an eternity to the child who rarely misbehaves, to the sensitive child who wears her feelings on her sleeve, leaving them exposed and vulnerable to the sharp tongue I wield too often.    

We were running late, she was tired and crabby, and I was feeling anxious and overwhelmed.  Boxes of Christmas ornaments were strewn about my house, waiting to adorn a tree that was still only half lit.  Dishes were piled high in the sink, remnants of the morning’s breakfast still scattered on the kitchen counter.  Legos covered the floor, just waiting to pierce a bare foot.  I stood in the midst of it all, thinking that I still hadn’t bought the first Christmas present or addressed the first card.  Her defiance had weighed heavy at the top of it all, and I had collapsed easily, my shattered nerves adding to the mess.  She trudged slowly up the stairs to her room.  I needed the time out more than she did.

I gave up hope of making it anywhere on time, choosing instead to sit in the stillness of His presence and let Him speak His truth into my wild heart.  He reminded me that my frustrations weren’t born of an unadorned Christmas tree, a messy kitchen, or even a child misbehaving.  I had collapsed because I was heavy with sin, bearing the weight of outward appearances and the fear of not measuring up.  I had been reading too many status updates and not enough scripture.  I had been running too many miles but had gotten out of the spiritual race.  I was looking to the world’s standards to define me, instead of looking to Him for my sense of self worth.

The frustrations drained right out of me as I sank deeper into the comfort of His presence, and I confessed my sin and received His grace.  I called my daughter to come downstairs and she fell into my arms, choking out sobs of “I’m sorry”.  I held her close, and and there He was – right in the midst of my mess, making it beautiful and perfect in His sight, refining it for His glory and my greater good, redeeming it all by His very blood.