Saturday showed depraved hearts. For all of us. Sunday needed to be a new day with new mercies. My kids were doing better than I was…I was still guarding my heart from childish defiance and ways which drained my joy. I found myself quietly going through the motions of making and delivering breakfast while trying to get my kids to understand that I meant what I said about not wearing sweatpants to church. Yet it still took at least two changes of clothing for each to remedy the issue…even though I had laid out the specific clothes for two of them.
Our 9-year-old neighbor came over to catch a ride with us and I headed upstairs to shower and get myself ready for church. I have recently added some cold weather clothes to my solely tropical climate wardrobe. By recently, I mean a got a couple of shirts this week. I chose the puffy blouse this particular morning. I’m not a puffy blouse girl but decided to step out of my comfort zone. I hadn’t tried it on yet so I kept the tag on in case it didn’t fit. I donned the blouse after my body cleansing and my soul froze as I heard the screams and bangs coming from downstairs. I quickly drew on my eyebrows and yelled for them to get their shoes on.
We headed out of the door and my soul was still heavy from the past 48 hours. We made it to church and as I was holding open the door for my troop, one of my friends told me that my tag was sticking out. Yup. Forgot to pull off the tag. They laughed and said it’s a mom look that they have all worn. Yah. I laughed but felt the sting of embarrassment at the same. I pulled it quickly and realized that it didn’t come off cleanly. There was a dreaded red string that unraveled the rest of the tag on the blouse as I pulled. So I rolled it like spaghetti on a string and thought I got it all. After I checked in all the kids I headed down to my Sunday school class.
I sat by myself off to the side and enjoyed the interactive class. As soon as it was over, a woman jumped up to greet me. “Your tag is sticking out. It’s kinda broke or something.” I reached around and saw the other half of the string pulled tag that I missed. “Thank you! I bet you were staring at that all class!” She laughed, smiled, and shyly nodded yes. I hung my head and pulled that tag with a vengeance. I quickly exited to pick up Annabelle and her friend for service.
The sermon this Sunday was on gospel, safety, time. Our pastor explained that our church should not just proclaim the gospel, but live it out. We should be a safe place to confess and repent our sins as we are all messes and need the help and encouragement from our brothers and sisters in Christ as we sojourn this world. And we need to allow the Lord all the time He needs to finish the work He has for us. We are not a quick fix. Basically we are disasters. But He came, died, and rose again for disasters like me. His work won’t be done on me till glory. That’s a life of time.
I smiled as I realized my puffy blouse perfectly illustrated my morning. I tried to dress myself up to cover my sullied soul but it took a couple of sisters to point out my revealing tag for me to fix the problem. I don’t have to come to church looking or acting a certain way, church is for messes like me. People that love me enough to tell me to fix something in love, not in condemnation or judgment. We’ve all been there.
Then it hit me. All this truth is true for my home too. My home needs to be a place of gospel, safety, and TIME for my kids. I am super impatient for God to do His work in the life of the gifts He’s given me. I want Him to sanctify them now! Yet it’s the time that really shows the glory of the Lord. I won’t appreciate His handiwork without His simmering work on their hearts.
Saturday showed our depraved hearts, but Sunday brought the hope of how gospel, safety, and time restores them…with the help of a puffy blouse.