Patient

O man. Momma struggles. 

She struggles to be patient with the three of you, all yelling for attention in your various ways, creating a symphony of chaos in her ears. Her house stinks with diapers and her own angry temper. She is limited, frustrated by the inability to be enough for all the needs. She is brought to  the end of herself quickly and learns through and through that she is but flesh and blood, weak and sinner-to-the-core. 

Why can’t she embrace Jesus’ heart for the leper, His servant attitude at the demeaning, His touch to the disgusting, His kindness to the children? Why doesn’t she feel gratitude for the thousands of provisions at her fingertips each day? Why isn’t she kind to her sweet spirited children? Why can’t she just be patient?

Oh how she needs Jesus! How she has fallen short of the glorious ideals God holds out for humanity! One of her college professors always maintained that, “No one needs Jesus more that me.” This playground of three babies, three, two and one, is her classroom to learn these truths, hands on and in the heat of the moment.  

She heard a story this week about a bird with a broken wing who came to the Mender of broken things. He asked the bird if she would come sit with Him even if He never healed her wing. After debate, she did and in the so doing, found she was overwhelmed at the sweetness of being near Him and could hear His broken heartbeat. She realized that if He had merely healed her wing, she would have quickly flown away, on to other things, and missing out on His gracious presence.

Impatience your momma’s poison and the antidote is the Lord’s gracious, long-term patience. He is kind to her and wants to meet her with with Himself. And in that sense, taking away the struggle is arbitrary.

Thank you Jesus for the thorns in our flesh, for our humbling weaknesses, for the Achilles heels that keep us on our knees receiving grace that is sufficient and power made perfect.