Redemption Through Spilled Milk

milk spillThe kids don’t have school today. While they eat breakfast, I’m sitting in the other room. I asked them not to interrupt me – to just give me 10 minutes I can spend with God.

I turn on my Worship mix on Spotify and put it on shuffle for a random selection. Redeemed by Big Daddy Weave is the first song that plays. Then I turn to my devotional, Good Morning Lord by Sheila Walsh. The next topic is Today I will remember who I am in Christ. And the question it asks is What, if anything, keeps you from living with absolute confidence that God loves you and from remembering who you are in Christ?

And, just as I’m about to answer… just as I’m about to examine my life and jot down some thoughts in this journal… Eli calls for me. Lincoln spilt his cereal. And I break down. I get angry. I exclaim how all I ask for is 10 minutes – to spend with God no less – and Lincoln makes a huge mess that needs immediate attention. And it’s because he was playing, which I had just moments before asked him not to do or he might spill his milk.

And, in that moment, I see the thing that keeps me from fully accepting that God could love this broken shell of a person. That I don’t call to him in those everyday moments of frustration. That I – though I hate to even admit it – yell at my precious boys because I feel like most of the time I’m talking to myself… they never seem to listen because I’m always saying the same things over and over and over again.

I’m not here to vent about them though. I’m here to complain about the fact that I can’t seem to get it together and be the mommy I want to be for them. I want so desperately to set aside these petty grievances and always speak to them with grace (sternness where needed, yes, but with grace and love). I don’t want to be the mommy that gets so angry over spilled milk that both of my kids cower.

Obviously, I’m back at my desk, rambling out my thoughts with my fingers on the keys. Eli just came in and politely says, “Excuse me, Momma.” Exasperated, I impatiently say “What?”

And he hugs me, gently telling me he loves me.

Tears well up. Condemnation starts to fester in my head, but then God shows me that, even in my lack, he uses the heart of my precious boy to remind me that He loves me. Every part of me, even where I fall short. I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to be super mom and handle every situation like a champ. I will falter. I will stumble. I will, unfortunately, probably yell at my kids again. But God loves me anyway. He will fill in the places where I’m lacking.

I am cleansed and forgiven (1 John 1:9); I am a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). I am loved by my heavenly Father and have been adopted as his child (1 John 3:1). I am fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), and God delights in me (Psalm 147:11). I am God’s chosen (1 Peter 2:9); I am the apple of his eye (Psalm 17:8).

I am redeemed.

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