He’s in tears over his propensity to worry. He’s crying over his chicken fingers and I know this is more than the fact that he is admittedly over-tired. These tears come from a deeper place. A fearful place I know too well.
He builds fences around himself by way of rules and regulations, numbering steps that must be taken in order to execute the necessary details of life; fences that he thinks protect him, but in reality, shut God out. He doesn’t get grace but I get him so well, because it wasn’t until last year, that grace cut me wide open while simultaneously filling my holes like putty.
We talk about Pharisees and their rules, rules they thought made them more holy, when the truth was much uglier than hard-won holiness. The rules only exacerbated their issues, displacing them from the grace. Jesus called them whitewashed tombs. (Matthew 23:27)
And when we say we can’t (because the truth is, we won’t) we build that fence a little taller. We remind God that His way with us is limited and that there are parts of ourselves that we must self-protect.
I told my son that all his worry doesn’t protect him from anything. That’s the enemy talking. That’s the doubt-seed (weed) rooted in us all from the beginning of time. The deceiver yaks in our ears and in our hearts and hands us the nails and boards as we fret and build and panic and worry, stacking those boards higher and higher.
I can’t hold my own water back as I talk to my boy about grace because redemption is my undoing, the very edge of me, where I become less, and Christ — Christ is all.
We’re mirrors of each other, wiping our tears, grappling with grace. I see a peace fill him as we shake our unbelieving heads at this obscene grace of the Gospel. He struggles to believe it, and I confess that I do too–that everyone who receives grace struggles because it’s absurd and glorious and so wildly undeserved. How can we not struggle?
We’re all a little (or a lot) afraid to let God in. We know the mess we’ve made. It’s not good, what we’ve done.
He sighs and tells me that the enemy is the advertiser of fence building material. He sells it cheap and in abundance. We laugh a little, but we lock eyes and I say, “Stop buying what he’s trying to sell you. He doesn’t have your best interest at heart.” But this Christ? This God who sent His own, while we were still sinners? He’s got us.
He sees our mess and He hops the fence anyway. He sweeps it away and calls it grace.
I love the way you parent your kids with your whole heart Kris. You inspire me on a regular basis. Thanks for sharing this story of the way God loves us so intimately.
Shelly, you are very kind to me. I often feel like I’m just stumbling through this motherhood thing, trying to be brave enough to have the hard conversations, trying to be loving enough to show Christ to my kids… Lord knows it’s not what we say, but how we live… Thank you for encouraging me always.
yes, Kris, i think the struggle is part of the acceptance. because it very much *is* our nature to operate under “law” and “tit for tat,” and grace just undoes us in more ways than one. a beautiful picture of communion between a mother and a son in what is perhaps the primary struggle of life in this skin.
i love how you write so broken, friend.
yes, this does feel like the primary struggle to me–accepting grace. I’m so much more willing and ready for it in this season, but it wasn’t that long ago that I felt *just* like my boy… praying God reveals the truth in a rich way to all who struggle to accept His mercy. It’s the most unbelievable gift–and yet, it’s ours, it’s free–it changes our lives… Thanks, Kelli. Always so grateful for you, my friend.
Kris, you are a very wise mother. Thank God your son is talking to you about the hard things when he could just be walking away. That is grace.
Jody, bless you, yes, that is grace, isn’t it? God is good… so very very good. Thank you, my friend.
That you could slice through those tears and see deeper, Kris–because you’ve been gutted by grace, this makes me sigh so big.
Gutted by grace… what a beautiful, and accurate way of putting it, Sandy. Yes. Indeed, I am a new creation. Thank you, my friend. XO
So beautifully communicated. Thank you. I especially love this: He struggles to believe it, and I confess that I do too–that everyone who receives grace struggles because it’s absurd and glorious and so wildly undeserved. How can we not struggle? — ahh. So true!
Thank you Marvelyne, your encouragement is a blessing.