My routine began as mundanely as the plain Greek yogurt that I eat every. single. morning. My alarm chimed its weekday wake up call at exactly 6:23am. I slipped on my robe, quietly fixed my coffee and opened my phone so that Facebook could instantly brief me on whatever breaking news had erupted while I slept. A comment stirred me a little. Then disapproval welled in my chest. A little guilt quickly followed. I knew it was none of my business, but if it were my business, I would have handled it better.
In my head, I always know the things that others should have done and the words they should have spoken. I tell myself I’m capable and confident. I think if I want something done right I should do it myself. I believe my family needs me. My work needs me. My church needs me.
This morning somewhere in the middle of my silent self-righteous rant, somewhere in the middle of all those “I’s” and “me’s”, I heard a whisper from the Holy Spirit, and I caught a glimpse of something far truer than the idea that I am indispensable.
I stay busy because everyone thinks I am strong.
Busy is often confused with strong. God is strong. When I rely on Him, I am strong. When I am busy, I am not strong. I am a busy body.
Faced with this truth, I uttered a six-word prayer that changed the course of my day, “I have a problem. Help me.”
On Friday, I was parked at Sam’s. A girl hit me from behind. She was devastated. I told her it was just a truck. It was easy for me to say. I knew her pocketbook would be burdened with the repair.
My husband told me he would take my SUV to get a bid today for insurance. I didn’t need his help, and I didn’t want to wait. I drove down the four-lane road looking for the collision center I knew was nestled on one of its busy corners. A familiar intersection quickly revealed to me that I had gone too far. I veered into a parking lot to turn around and head back for a second look. The curb, meant to protect me from a nearby ditch, met the front then the bottom of my truck with a crash that sent heads turning.
I jumped out to discover scrapes on the front of my truck and a bent running board where the strangled curb struggled to escape the full weight of my new car.
On my way to the collision center, I collided with the answer to my prayer.
God reminded me that I need grace.
I need grace as much as the mom I judged because I don’t understand what it’s like to be her. I need grace as much as the leader who disappointed me because I saw that disappointed look in my child’s eyes just this week. I need grace as much as my husband because sometimes it’s my fault were late.
I need grace. I need grace from others. I need grace from myself. And I certainly need grace from God. I’ve got a scrape on the front of my truck to prove it.
Lord, thank you for your reminder today that motherhood, marriage and all things in life are not a competition. They are gifts, and so is your grace.