I was having one of those upside-down type of motherhood evenings. My daughters were arguing over crayons I had bought earlier that day. My seven year-old didn't want the two-year old to use them, fearing she would break them. I explained that they were for using and that I would buy more once those inevitably broke and mysteriously disappeared (how can so many crayons disappear in a house?). Nothing worked.
To top things off, the baby was about to base jump off the high chair in rebellion for not being allowed to eat at the table (they can't reach the table so they spill the entire plate on their laps). It was not my best moment. Usually, when six o'clock rolls around, my mommy patience decreases by at least 40%. It was not good.
Eventually, I got them to calm down. Tears were wiped and food found its way into stomachs. A few minutes later, chaos. This time in the bathtub. The oldest brought up the crayon issue. Again. I calmly explained (I was back on the patience horse) why she needed to share, and all the other lessons we try to cram into an opportune teachable moment. In the middle of my rant, she looked at me and interrupted with an Oscar-worthy performance. She was sobbing, naked, her arms limping hopelessly by her side as she said, "You are not going to like this... but, I think I'm just, SELFIIIIISSSSHHHH!!!!"
At that moment, all my anger and frustration dissipated. My heart felt an intense surge of compassion and love. I wrapped a towel around her and hugged her tightly. "Sweety, I am selfish. We are all selfish. That's our human nature." The conversation that followed was a life lesson for me, as much as it was for her.
As a perfect Father, God understands our struggle with our tendency to sin. Our natural inclination to seek our best before that of others. The battle that rages within us to do what we want to do versus what we should do. It was her struggle to share those crayons with a smile on her face or hoard them for herself right down to the wrapper.
As I stood there, looking at her, I knew exactly what she was feeling. I have been there many times. Constantly. Daily. Bare before God, fully aware of my inability to be the type of woman I desire to be. But, for the first time, I experienced what I believe Jesus feels towards his children in those moments.
I was moved by her opening statement, "You are not going to like this...", as if she was just about to reveal a deep secret I had no clue of. She worried she would be letting me down, as if admitting that fact about her would change my opinion and love for her; but she couldn't hold the weight of her realization any longer, so she confessed.
Isn't this how we often approach Jesus? He's not going to be happy about this. He's not going to like me for this. I can't live up to His standards. I'm not good enough for this 'following Jesus thing'. However, what I felt for my daughter at that moment was grace. I know you are selfish. I know you can't do what you want to do, I'm just like you! And this coming from an imperfect being! How much more grace then does our perfect Father lavish upon us!
"For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way - just as we are - yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need." Hebrews 4:15, 16
Jesus understands our struggle! That is why He came to take our place, to die for us. He knew we couldn't do it on our own. He knew it before He created us, and still decided to love us. It was His plan all along.
What greater grace? What greater news?
To know myself insufficient, but enough in Him.
Unworthy, yet bought at the highest price.
Weak, but made strong through Him.
Mortal, yet given eternal life through his sacrifice.
Selfish, but loved by the one who unselfishly gave His own son for
me.
As I embraced my daughter, wet and sobbing, I thanked God for embracing me in my brokenness. That is my victory over my selfishness. Not I, but Christ in me.