Bad Jesus

Tonight I put my oldest to bed rather quickly. We sung our songs and prayed our prayers and kissed our kisses, but I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

See, I've been on single-momma duty for the past few days (hubs is traveling for work) and this afternoon my throat began this strange tickle that morphed into what feels like full-blown strep. I say these things to set the stage and provide the context that I'm not 100% on my "mom" game. By this evening, I was admittedly phoning it in.

So, when after about 10 minutes of solitude, I began to hear the ominous and repeated opening and shutting of a particular door, I was in no mood to be met with the sweet smile of a girl who lied straight to my face informed me that she needed to go potty.

So. I breathed heavy and even did a bit of grumbling while getting her onto the potty. I might have been unkind in my response when she picked poo out of her undies and held it up to my face to demonstrate that she had had an accident. I most definitely shushed her when she started singing at the top of her lungs (as she often does) while sitting on the potty....serenading her bowels to move. So, in response...my sensitive, but highly intelligent daughter resorted to story-telling.

"Once upon a time, I was sitting on the potty nice and still and mommy was yelling at me. The End."

Yep. And there you have it folks. I am a bad Jesus.

See, God calls us to be His hands and feet. We should also be Jesus to those around us. Ministering. Loving. Teaching. Healing.  Jesus ministered to the dirty, the faithless, the wicked, the impure...I mean, he ministered to the demon-possessed. And while I'm sure his truth felt like a piercing sword to the soul...I'm pretty sure those He healed didn't run off singing, "I was pretty messed up and gross and Jesus yelled at me. The End." Not at all. They praised and told of His miraculous works.

At this point in my life motherhood (my children) is my ministry. They are who I am supposed to be Jesus too the MOST...logistically, I'm just with them more than anyone else. And this should be so EASY.

I birthed them. I know them. They are part of me. They are innocent. They are most of the time clean and have this delicious smell...

So, why do I fail so often?

I get impatient with their failures or lack of comprehension. I really don't like being near their messiness...sticky hands, poo bottoms, snot noses. I take it personally when they lie or disobey. I want to be alone. I don't want to be sought or touched or held or talked to. Sometimes the fact that my oldest thinks life is a musical can grate on the nerves. I want to runaway in the hard moments. Oh, thank God that I am not their Jesus.

See, I will show my daughters glimpses of Jesus, but the fact of the matter is that all I can offer them is my unconditional love. I can hold them in my own broken arms. I can look into their faces and lives and see me - my struggles, my sins. But mostly, I stand next to my daughters and tell them...Yes, Momma really needs Jesus too. We all need a Savior.

Thank God that I am not Him.   

Because Jesus looks through the failures, He comes close to the mess. Our disobedience and sin  break His heart, but he still let's us seek Him and find Him and talk to Him and praise Him. He never runs away in the hard moments.

Oh, Thank you God for my Jesus and help me to be more like Him.