A Spring of Joy

It’s Metaphor Monday at One Thing, a blog I regularly read, so here’s my contribution.

On Friday night, B and I went out on a date. After putting the finishing touches on my outfit for the evening, I sat down next to Bella while she ate her supper. I watched as she relished each bite, smearing stuffing and veggies all over her face and hands. After a bit, my red-headed beauty turned her mush covered face toward me, stretched out her smeary hands and opened her arms in a hug.

“I yuv you, Mommy.” she belted with gusto.

And immediately I shrunk back from those messy hands. After all, I was wearing my dressy clothes. “Oh, honey, don’t touch Mommy, you’re all messy.”

Then it hit me what I had just done, and I looked at Bri.

“I wonder what it would be like if God said that to us.” I said.

Bam!

What if God told us we were too messy? What if he said, “Sorry. You go clean up your act and then you can come to me.”?

In case y’all haven’t figured it out yet, I am a perfectionist. I want to do everything right. I want to be the perfect wife. I want to be the perfect mom. I want to be the perfect daughter and friend and homemaker. I want to have perfect relationships with people and with God. I want to have the perfect walk with God and perfect spiritual discipline.

And in case y’all haven’t figured it out yet. I am NOT perfect; in fact, I am far from perfect. Frankly, I am a mess. I am self-consumed and proud. I place expectations on myself and others that can never be met. I fail. Often. In my walk with God. In my roles as wife and mother and friend and daughter. In my relationships. I am messy. Very, very messy.

As I long to abide more and more with God, to go deeper with Him, part of that process is seeing more of my sin. It’s a good thing. It’s a necessary thing. But it’s a hard thing. It’s hard because instead of being consumed by my Savior, it’s easy to be consumed by guilt. The accuser wants me to focus on the sin and the mess and become even more self-consumed. And in turn, he wants me to become messier. He wants the mushy, smeary face and hands to get mushier and smearier as I shovel in the lies of the world, the flesh and the devil. He wants me to lose sight of the unsearchable riches of Christ.

But God doesn’t look at me and say, “Don’t touch me. Don’t reach out to me unless you’re clean.” I am already cleansed because of Christ, and nothing can change that. His love for me isn’t based on anything I do or don’t do. He doesn’t look at me and focus on my smeary hands and my mush-covered face.

He looks at me and sees beauty.

He looks at me and see His child, His daughter.

He looks at me and He sees my mess.

And He reaches out to me.

And still He says “I love you.”