A Time Machine

Earlier today, my husband asked me “What can I do for you?”

Usually this gently worded question means that he can tell my head is about to explode with green goo spewing everywhere. I wasn’t there yet, but I was definitely frustrated.

My answer? Build me a time machine. (If you didn’t already know I was a complete dork, now you do.)

Insert confused emoji here. “Whyyyyy?”

“So I can go have a little chat with Adam and Eve.”

This disease that I and my children have is on my nerves today. Not the one with the gluten, it’s the one with the sin.

I’m the kind of romantic they call hopeless. I just want every single day to be beautiful. When I have a bad day it like hurts my soul or something. If I have a few bad days (like the last few weeks) then I feel like a failure at everything.

So I clean after the kids go to bed and I plan out my week and I spend my time with Jesus. “Surely,” I say to myself “This will be a good day.”

And then the children wake up and start sinning.

The little beasts. So I put on my sweet, motherly voice and try to correct them the way the books and preachers say is supposed to point them to Jesus.

And then they keep on sinning.

The little beasts. And after a few times my patient voice starts coming out through gritted teeth and I start to say things like, “Mama is starting to get frustrated.” As if announcing this sweetly will inspire them to exhibit all nine fruits of the Spirit immediately and simultaneously.

Some days I yell. Some days I fall flat on my face on my bed. Some days I just clean (somehow my house doesn’t look the better for it). And some days I manage to find some fruits of the Spirit for myself. Today I was hanging on to my patience by a very small thread. I hadn’t dropped off the cliff yet, but my thoughts were swinging from understanding to anger faster than I could keep up.

After my conversation with Nic, I just plopped on a bed and tried to figure out what was going on in my brain and my heart. I honestly didn’t even know what I was feeling or why exactly I was feeling…whatever it was.

I finally narrowed it down to this (mostly). I was trying my absolute best to do the best job possible. And my child wasn’t responding well. Once I figured that out, well the Spirit was faithful.

Even if I were to miraculously perform as the perfect wife, mother, teacher, cook, housekeeper and those other hats I wear, it doesn’t mean that people won’t sin.

Just because I do something well, doesn’t guarantee anything about others’ responses.

So today, I plopped down on a bed, got a pep talk from Jesus and got back up and got creative. (That’s a lot of gots…bad blogger!) The work got finished there I go again) and it was even accomplished with giggling.


Was it a perfect day? Absolutely not.

Was it day of being perfected by God’s grace? Absolutely.

Now I’m going to snuggle with the one my soul loves and catch up on some MotoGP.

Good Night.

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