Even On the Way to Church

This was a typical Sunday morning around here: anything but peaceful and contemplative as we scurried around readying ourselves for church.  Untangling hair, "discussing" clothing options, and repeating - at least 3 times - where the kids can find the yogurt are not activities that lend themselves to restfulness.  I am not the first parent to recognize that hypocrisy paves our way to worship service after an hour of yelling.
But - oh thank you! - grace follows along too.
Grace = favor that I do not deserve, blessings that I cannot earn.
It was grace, I believe, that snapped me out of my on-the-way-to-church-distraction and opened my ears to the song coming from the seat directly behind me.

Happy girl with crazy, breezy hair

Like many a four-year-old, this little girl of mine sings a lot made-up songs. This morning's musical creation was mostly made up of common phrases from "church" choruses:
I shout to God. 
He is so great. 
I love you, God. 
He knows what I'm feeling.
It wasn't particularly melodious and it didn't rhyme. However, it was the most beautiful sound of the morning:  a hymn of spontaneous worship from a child who can't make it through a Sunday service in just one seat.
Did you notice? He knows what I'm feeling. 
I have no idea what was going through her little head that would prompt those words.  But I needed them.  He knows...
Our Sunday morning frazzle-rock doesn't surprise the great God.  I think He can handle this tattered mom and her rambunctious offspring that fidget and whisper through prayers.  His grace means that He still likes us, even when our company manners collapse and we behave like those people you shake your head at in the grocery store.
He knows...
When I feel tired, or fabulous, or overwhelmed, or in control, or just plain lazy, or like a failure  These feelings do not take Him off guard. My varied and shifting emotions do not change His love for me.  He loves me because of who He is, not because of anything I've done. I cannot earn grace. It follows me in the giddiness of a "good" day and even on the way to church.

Aren't you proud of this trick I taught my songbird?  Who needs plastic surgery when scotch tape is available?

Perfectly Thankful

Through various conversations & readings lately, I've been reminded of the pressure we women place upon ourselves to achieve perfection.
Perfect marriage.
Perfect children.
Perfect home.
Perfect meals.
Perfect body.
Perfect job/hobby/creations...
Perfect spelling.

Perfection is the four-lane highway on the guilt trip of motherhood. 
Anyone who's read my stuff before knows that I am not perfect in any of these aspects.  Really not perfect. Some days, I'm determined that my imperfections will not keep me from joy.  Some days I do allow my imperfections (and those of people around me) to keep me from joy.  Some days I forget I'm not perfect, and I actually do something that impresses myself.  And then my camera reminds me. 

See, I made this perfectly cute turkey shirt for GBaby.  Everything about it impressed me: I made it without a real pattern, loosely following an adaptation from one of my mom's sewing patterns from the 70's.  I used only scrap materials, left over from other projects.  I hand-embroidered parts. I even finished the seams and top-stitched it, people! 
It fits perfectly. 
"Gee, I'm so pleased with myself.  I must be perfect.  I'll take a picture to show everyone that sometimes I do things right. I can almost be a craft blogger (except for that whole I'm-not-a-Mormon part)."

Then.
I realized.
I dropped my camera two weeks ago.  And now it doesn't like to focus. (Anyone want to sell me a lens for cheap?)

Durn.
I was this close to being perfect. 

Now I have to pretend my picture is from the 1960's when I was perfect (except for that whole not-being-born-yet part).

Don't tell me that it's all The Awful Worldly World's fault, because it only has as much influence over me as I allow.  So, what drives my (ugly) desire for perfection? Insecurity? Pride? Control? Painful Memories? 
God sees every part of me, the perfect and imperfect.  And still, He loves me.  Amen.  That's enough to be Thankful.  With or without a turkey shirt.

Now, as a bonus reminder, go give a good listen to these two songs from a really great artist.  And be thankful for your imperfections, because they can showcase the enormity of God's love.

Just so you know that I'm not making this imperfect stuff up: I had a really crappy attitude for about 36 hours. You can pray for me (and my poor little family). Thanks.

Unplanned Treasure

So today I'm not doing what I wanted to.
Sickie-poo baby leaves me sitting with her in my arms.
We're watching youtube videos because it keeps her from crying.
And I resent that my projects were interrupted.
We watch this short music video from an artist I would never had called my favorite.
And now I'm crying.
And now I'm loving every minute "wasted" with my little ones.