The faith of my childhood taught me that Jesus was untroubled by Good Friday. I honestly pictured Him going joyfully, grinning all the way to the cross from the flannel-board lessons I experienced. I don’t know, maybe it was only my own filter. But that’s how I pictured it.
This perspective flawed my view on God and sin a bit, I think. When you believe Christ was happy about His own crucifixion, well… that’s a whole lotta pressure. It’s also not what the Bible shows us about His story.
He prayed more fervently, and he was in such agony of spirit that his sweat fell to the ground like great drops of blood. -Luke 22:44
He asked 3 times if this cup could be passed from Him. I mean, obviously submitting to the Father’s will trumps all of that… But you guys, it wasn’t easy. Even for Jesus.
Sometimes life isn’t easy. And I can tell my Jesus that things are hard and I don’t want this to be how my day or week or season to be. That is not a sin.
Looking forward to Sunday, when we will lift up in worship a perfect, sinless, risen Savior.
I’ve only just heard of Maundy Thursday as an adult. I kept thinking my mother was saying she was going to “Monday Thursday” service the first time she mentioned it. Huh? Once I was aware that such a thing as Maundy Thursday (or Holy Thursday in some churches) existed, it was in the context of super traditional churches who I didn’t see as relevant or for me.
So very many years ago, Jesus sat at a table with his best friends. His people. The ones He traveled with, He worked alongside, He did life with. He served these friends a meal. He looked across the table at them for what was probably the hundredth or thousandth time.
The whole time, He knew they were about to abandon and betray him.
Have you ever been hurt by a friend? Felt betrayed? Crushed?
Can you imagine KNOWING the people who caused you so much pain were hours away from causing it and actively loving them anyway?
Maybe I’m just getting older. But I think life and love, scars and wounds teach us so much.
On this side of the past 2 years of my life, I think Holy Thursday holds so much power and shows us so much about our Savior. It shows me who He is. And it shows me how much I need Him.
Right around hour 2 of bedtime (curse you, daylight savings!), I was vacuuming the family room when someone got out of bed. Again. I had about had it. Actually, no. I had already had it.
I had already given all my joy. I had already been the fun mom. I had already been the patient mom. I had already granted understanding and extended grace. And I had already lost my temper and threatened to “come up there one more time.”
I was wrung out.
In this life season, I reach the end of most days feeling wrung out. Like every little drop of energy, ability, and smiles have been twisted from my body. Motherhood does that.
Please don’t mistake this as being ungrateful. Far from it. It’s just exhaustion.
And I figure… I can’t be the only wrung out mama. So why be shy about it? Solidarity, sisters.
So cheers! Have a glass of wine, read a good book, fold the laundry, and just wait till morning to unload the dishwasher. It’s more challenging to unload with a baby attempting to surf the dishwasher door, right?
We always eat dinner earlier than I’d like to admit. I’m a hungry girl who chases toddlers all day and I somehow feel like the day is beginning to wind down once I start cooking dinner. This often leads to, “whoops! dinner at 4:45!” moments in our house.
But I digress.
Our neighbor girl was over. She is the sweetest and such a positive influence on my boys. She can keep right up with them while somehow creating a climate of happiness and cooperation around her.
The boys asked if she could stay for dinner and honestly, my first thought was no… Only because dinner was probably going to be ready before 5:00pm and it was only spaghetti and meatballs. I felt inadequate. Like I should be serving something more balanced and serving it at 6:30pm like a real grown up. I internally acknowledged that those were silly reasons, though, and said, “of course she is welcome!”
Each night, we go around the table and say our favorite thing and our worst thing that day. Company goes first! Eric and I were standing in the kitchen still serving up bowls when our sweet neighbor shared her favorite thing…
“My favorite thing is eating dinner with you guys, of course!”
And I was reminded right then, right around 5:00pm on that Thursday that all I need to have is an open door and open heart for everyone around me: my husband, my kids, my neighbors, my friends. It’s really all anyone requires of me. They don’t need gourmet meals. They don’t care what time we eat. They just want an open door to me and my home.
One of my best friends has a quote hanging in her house: “Hospitality is not inviting people into our perfect homes. It’s inviting them into our imperfect hearts.”
This may be the lamest blog start in history.
I keep psyching myself out, trying to think of wonderful post topics. What areas do I have wisdom in? What am I qualified to type? Oh, c’mon… I’m not really qualified to say anything! Ha!
So, I’m just gonna chat to myself about my life. Starting today. Or tomorrow.
I’ve had many little chips in who I thought I was lately… shaking my ideas of success in ways I didn’t know I was still clinging to.
You see, when my husband quit his secure and well-paying job 3 years ago to start his own accounting firm that gives away profits, I thought I had shrugged off the American Dream. I thought I had walked away from making financial security an idol.
Reading Interrupted by Jen Hatmaker was the first thing to make me realize that there is still a part of my selfish soul that wants to rise to the top. I want to be a good girl and do a good job (at my job, at motherhood, at being a wife, even at being a child of God) and gosh darn it, I want people to notice and like me. Sinking to the bottom scared me deep inside, if I’m really honest.
Then I discovered the Flower Patch Farmgirl. And cried while reading her family’s story.
It’s not that I necessarily think that it’s what God has called to be MY story, but if He did… How would I respond?
“I’d kind of forgotten how compelling the Spirit is. He is the fresh wind everyone is looking for. He reminds me I am a member of a grand assembly that inspires and stirs and empowers. On bad days, when I secretly whisper, ‘Is this all there is?’ the Spirit urges me to join Him at the bottom, where the best grassroots movements have always begun. He is the new I was craving when I realized my heart was dry. Paul explained that ‘we serve in the new way of the Spirit’ (Romans 7:6), and I deeply considered that for the first time.” -Jen Hatmaker
I’m a mom of 6. Yep, 6. It’s not really as crazy as it sounds.
I might get less sleep than the average 30 something. I change more diapers, chase more toddlers and help with more homework. I definitely drink a lot of coffee – 6 cups may not be an exaggeration some days. But life is very beautiful. And more simple and peaceful than you’d probably guess.
And I try my darnedest to remember that the days are long, but the years are short. I’ve felt the hours drag until bedtime with a grouchy toddler and I’ve seen a decade flash before my eyes as my daughter grew into a teenager.
Let’s carefully wade and boldly swim through this together. Let’s lift each other up and let’s be community and love for each other. Kids need happy moms. And moms need other happy moms in front of them, behind them, and alongside them.
Grab yourself a cup of coffee and join me.