My morning was seven different kinds of crazy. I mean, seriously! My husband is out on Bremerton, (bless his soul) doing a photo-shoot that sent him on the ferry before any human being should be peeled out of bed, and I am at home trying to make it out the door to church on time. Alana is plopped on the floor, nibbling from the sea of cheerios that she scattered all over her blankie, and I am in the kitchen reheating my coffee. As I punched in the numbers on the microwave, I glanced at my hand and panicked. Where are my wedding rings? Aside from the typical oblivious state that motherhood has left me in, I had absolutely no recollection of taking them off. Just about the time I thought I was going to have a full on, honey-I’m-pathetic-I-can’t-find-them-anywhere call to Stu, I remembered giving Alana, a lotion massage last night after her bath, and there they were, perched on my dresser. Bullet dodged. So I soldier on to the beautification process, or at least the ‘look remotely presentable for the fine people of Bothell’ process . There I stand eye-liner in hand, half-naked or half-dressed as I prefer as it implies that I am actually making progress toward the door. When I hear this glugging sound. Suddenly it hits me, our dog is dry heaving in our bedroom—and we have cream carpet. After dragging an 85lb, unwilling-to-budge-Labradoodle into the bathroom, just so she can barf on the laminate flooring…some how church is feeling farther from reality and insanity much closer. That’s about the time that Alana wanders in yelling at the dog to, “sit!” Which, in her case, much more closely resembles the unfortunate combination of: Shhh & It!
Somehow we made it. Somehow, my heart was ready to worship. Somehow, I showed my daughter that God is our first priority, even with doggie bile around my ankles and an inadvertently swearing toddler.
Because His grace is enough.
Because it’s okay to be imperfect.
I don’t know what you are doing today, but step into His presence. Find rest. Find peace. Find grace.