My father calls and wants to know when I will post on this blog. Often. And I've talked of vacillation before. Yesterday the sky was perfectly blue. This morning was grey, but wait! Now again, it is blue with swirly white strands of cottony clouds. Last night I had very little sleep which lends itself to a morning of need. Yesterday, I was a tinge frightened by the apathy I felt toward the (necessary) dependence I should feel on my creator. And so as I approach Mother's day I take an assessment. (Really, always, everyday.)
One of my children breaks me. Every single day. And it has always been. From the day she was born I was broken, and I am just not sufficient enough. Every morning we do the same dance, and I think: Really? Really? It is like some kind of SNL skit. At some point I think it must improve, but it doesn't. And I fall flat. And there it is, this hardness, a difficulty that is really more than me.
Sometimes I think back on former episodes of my life. And about change. About times when the Lord's grace seemed to bubble over from inside and change seemed to take place quickly. But I am on no fast track now. I am slow to learn, I find myself often confused. But when in the right place the question arises: have you felt to sing the song of redeeming love? And I have! I have! The Lord's love and grace is about change. And when I come to Him with my broken pieces (over and over) and childish questions (because I am such a child) I am never condemned, there is never a Really? Really? And this grace defines. It defines people as God's children. By love and not by their sins. And not by mine.
And so tomorrow I will try again (and the next day). And I know I will keep coming up short. I don't know what this will mean, for my daughter or for me or for anyone else. But every hardness I've encountered has been a gift, a treasure that has brought me steps closer to my Savior.