For All (Luke 2:10)

For the hurtful one who deserted me, letting our friendship slide like it didn't mean to him what it did to me.
For the draining one who is needy and self-centered and takes so much more than he gives.
For the uncomfortable one who is socially awkward and unaware and leaves me shaking my head.
For the defensive one is over-sensitive and difficult to talk to and makes me wonder where I went wrong.

For the unattainable one whose house is spotless and seasonly decorated and magazine-perfect.
For the intimidating one whose children are well-dressed and well-behaved and well-rounded.
For the gifted one who succeeds at whatever he does and excels wherever he tries.
For the gentle one who can navigate conversations and relationships with ease and grace.
For the self-controlled one who doesn't yell or lose her temper and whose demeanor exudes patience.

For all the people that raise my blood pressure and lower my hopes for mankind.  For all the people who inspire and intimidate me with their got-it-together-ness.  The good news that is cause for great joy is for all the people.  The saving grace of Jesus is for all people.  The intimacy I crave and enjoy with God is for all the people.  The love, joy, peace, strength, and wisdom I rely on daily is for all the people.

None of us is more worthy than the others.  None of us is less worthy than the others.

Left with Love and Grace

You kick your brother, forcefully and unprovoked.

I love you.

You taunt your brother and chase him around laughing at him.

I love you.

You whine and complain about your breakfast.

I love you.

You throw tantrum about getting dressed.

I love you.

Having abandoned time-outs, consequences, yelling, and threats for the day, I'm left with love and grace.  Which sounds so much less difficult and messy than it really is.

While you whine and complain, while you throw yourself on the floor, in between kicks and yells I whisper.  I love you.  I love you.  Can I lay with you here on the floor?  I love you.  Can I hug you?  Can I rub your back?  I love you.

Know that there is nothing you can do to get outside of my love for you.  Believe that there is no transgression that renders you unworthy.  See that my love for you extends beyond your ability to comprehend.  Feel that my love for you flows over every bit of you - even the bits I am working hard to shape.

I love you, my son.

Full (John 1:14)

Skimming the pages of my Bible that live in my memory, words like Full, Abundant, Overflowing, Surpassing, and Greater catch my eye as they fly past.  They always have.

A lifetime ago, they compelled a spontaneous and instant response, my hands rocketing outwards to grab on to them and with me dragging along behind.  I'd see my grip tighten and my knuckles whiten as I clung to their promise that this emptiness could be filled.  The twin monsters of loneliness and unworthiness danced around mockingly, trying to swallow my heart whole with their lies.  But hope clawed its way out of their jaws never letting go of its life-grip on those soaring, majestic assurances that one day.

Today my response is less urgent.  Its subtleness startles me as I reread those same words and recognize that the longing has changed.  I am not empty; I don't 'need' to be filled.  My life is full of good things, precious people, valued gifts.  My soul is filled with passions, dreams, and hopes.  My days are filled with the glorious mundane that is sweeping up Cheerios into dustpans and children into my arms.  My heart is full and overflowing.

He is full of grace and truth.  Though the realization arrived more subtly, I slowly reach out and take hold of the words as they meander past.  I don't have to grasp them so tightly this time.  They comfortably melt into my warm palm.  These are mine.  I've known them for years.  Their extravagance defines what I know of Him.  Their hope and abundance describes what I desire for me.  The tide is turning as I gently, repeatedly, cozily draw near to Him.  He is here and one day I will be *full* of Him.

Other

So many stories and experiences reinforce the 'otherness' of You.  You create all things from nothing and I see You outside of time and space.  You send floods and rainbows and messages and I see Your power and control.  You are in the clouds and the fire, crossing the all but God-forsaken desert.  At your command, the waters become stormy or calm or parted down the middle.  You are clothed in majesty, surrounded by an emerald sea, the only thought on the minds of all the creatures who bow before You.

Everything about You is so resplendent and awe-inspiring.  You are more powerful than my mind can fathom, greater than I will ever know.  Despite its 'otherness,' I do not doubt Your glorious greatness for a moment.

It's that glory, Your glory full of grace and truth, wrapped up in swaddling clothes, that mystifies me.  You became weak, temptable, powerless, needy, dirty, broken, human, messy, bruised, hungry, limited, mistreated, common, vulnerable flesh.  You made Your dwelling here among us.  With me.  In the world I know.  As a person I can know.

Fully God.  Fully with me.  Emmanuel.

That Your Greater would choose to become mine?  That is the truth I must claim hourly.  Your greater grace extends to every dark corner I offer up.  Your greater love for me both humbles and excites me.  You take great delight in me.  You are greater than all other gods.  And you will do greater things than these.  How can my response be anything but this: Thank You, Jesus.  You must become greater, I must become less.

Overshadow

By Your power, Most High, overshadow me.
Overshadow my anger with Your greater grace, my weakness with Your perfect strength, my quick reactions with Your long-suffering patience, my lies with Your praiseworthy truth, my laziness with Your overflowing life, my tears with your all-encompassing joy, my fear with Your otherworldly peace, my selfishness with Your humble sacrifice.
You must become greater, I must become less.
Overshadow me.

Wife

Things are happening.  There's bubbling beneath the surface.  A smile plays at the corners of my lips, even as I think about how He is moving.  What was choice is now desire.  What was practice is now life.  I love Him.  And He loves me.  And He is changing me.  Because love does.

But.  Oh how I wish there was no but.

But as I step off to the side and watch myself for a moment, I see a glaring hole between the caring phone calls, deliberate check-ins, prayerful emails, grace-filled conversations, compassionate listening, encouraging cards, generous offers, and hospitable invitations.  Those all look so righteous and holy and wonderful, but in the very center of them all is a cavernous gap called wife.  In that role, I am so weak.  He does not get the careful, caring, passionate love that I pride myself on doling out to everyone else around me.

And I feel ugly for selfish and hypocritical for it.

Lord, only You can fill me with that which I cannot manufacture.  I don't want to try harder.  Please, grow me love for him so that it cannot help but show in words, actions, touches, affirmations, tones, and attention.  You are the King of Greater.  Fill me with greater love and greater joy for my role in this house.

Don't look, Lord, this is too gross and messy and embarrassing.
I don't want You to know that's what I'm like.

But I extend grace.

But not for this, Jesus.  Not this time.  It's too much.  It's too awful.

But that is what grace is for.

But I'm not even asking for it.  I don't want to put words
to what I've done, to who I am.

But my grace surpasses.

But it's going to happen again, the same mistakes over and over.

I am so sorry.

But I give greater grace.

Greater?

Greater than you could earn.

Greater than you could repay.

Greater than you deserve.

Greater than your struggles.

Greater than your pain.

Greater than you could comprehend.

Surpassing, increasing, abounding, overflowing.

But I give greater grace.

My deep, dark corners where I keep the things that no one should see are not too deep and not too dark for you.