Why does doing the right thing seemingly collide with doing the hard thing? What is it about those days when you’ve given every sweat drop from your too-large pores in self-sacrifice and exhausted all emotional energy and made choices that would’ve made your pastor proud DOING it all right and you still come up empty?! We become discouraged that not only have we not felt joy in the giving but stinkin’ angry that our desperate goodness came out all messed up like a very out of shape, an unathletic person trying to become queen of Zumba or aerobics? This dancing in the rain all sounds so graceful and soul pretty. But, it’s not. It’s clumsy and humbling and the rain makes your hair all soaked and the mascara runs in streaks.
At the least, could someone appreciate and give me an A for the effort?
You know, it’s so hard not to flip out when you tackle a painting project with a house of littles. Not at first, of course. But, after a second trip to retint the ugly army green paint (what was I thinking?!) and I think the new color might be appreciated by Joanna Gaines herself, to get out to the car and the battery is dead. Super dead. Not the kind of dead when I’ll pray it back to life. Not like previously when it had a little flutter sound so it’s pretty likely God did it but my faith isn’t dynamically strong that God wants to raise that battery from the dead, so I assume it was probably a fluke. It’s really not surprising we’ve been a faithful AAA member for 20 years, but for 20 minutes, I’m thankful. The next 40 minutes, I’m thinking ‘As a faithful member of your automotive services for almost two decades, and I’m not renewing’. I’m relieved when I’m back on the road driving toward a wall of ugly I’ve got to cover before hubby gives me that look that discourages me from my next creative ideas. The moment my annoyed feet hit the tile kitchen floor, the chintzy plastic bags the stores use so they can sell me cheap paint splits, and the lid that was just reopened to retint an hour earlier reopens. The majority of a gallon of beautiful green paint is on my tile floor, soaking into the grout. I’m thinking there were some ungodly words in my head and I should’ve been credited for keeping them there.
I will be a mom that my mom, God, and hubby will be proud of. I’ll let the toddler ‘help’ with a paintbrush so he can feel special. I should write a parenting book. Calm In Calamity illustrated with a toddler painting my living room wall with me looking on. I’m so calm, all mustered up from deep within. Poster mom graceful is kind of like dancing in the rain? Toddler paints sloppy circles on the next wall to be painted and my heart swells a bit. It’s not so hard and messy when you just pull all of that grace, patience and sacrificial love out of your heart and paint pretty so that the bitterness, hurt and rejection in life is covered over. This is a life lesson. Sigh. I paint. And paint. I need to go into the toddler’s room and the artwork in her room shocks the painty socks off of me. On the wall, on the antique white bed, and on the curtain. The calm before the storm. There will be no gentle rain now to turn circles, there will be torrential, thunderous…..where is that grace God promises me?! Where is that affirmation of the love He feels for me when I try…so….hard? Surely He honors my actions and I’m becoming a little more loveable because of my effort. But why does it feel like His promises are not mine to claim?
I want you to love me, God. I want to please you so that you assure and confirm me of your love so I will try harder next time, God. I will be stronger, overflowing with grace in all my relationships, I will be more deserving of Your love and mercy.
I’ve just bumped hard into the religious spirit. I recognize it for its heavy weight, its exhausting presence, and lies I believe in discouragement. Is it really worth the battle to fight so hard and lose anyway? This is not the abundant life. This is the joy-sucking life that drives me to look for chocolate, or coffee, or an addiction that helps me to forget for just a little while that, no matter how hard I try, I can never do it well enough.
I cannot please God. This should devastate me, right? No, this realization is glorious, blessed freedom. I don’t need to kill myself trying so hard to do what’s right so I can please God and He can bless me. His sacrifice is the reason I’m justified and I see now that in my struggle to do it all right in my own strength that I’ve rejected the sacrifice. I’ve belittled the incredible Jesus by believing I can somehow earn some grace, some piece of peace, a little joy to make all this crazy hard life worthwhile and ultimately, feel loved and affirmed. How incredible is the peace that when I’m about to lose all sense, all logic, and my temper is about to spew ugly words I can never take back, that I remember the gift? The sacrifice is the finished work. I don’t need to finish it anymore by adding to the Gospel. But a crazy thing happens, I’m overwhelmed by Grace, by God. I take my bitterness, my complaints about the unfairness of life, all of it, to the cross. I’m so deeply humbled that I repent and acknowledge my inability to please God, to do the hard thing that’s the right thing. He fills me back up with courage and hope because He keeps His promises. It’s not my battle. The cycle of recognizing my need, calling out in humility that He is ALL I need, and believing God that He will always be the reason I do any right thing makes the yoke so easy, the burden so very light, and the prospect of another crazy day with no control of circumstances, laughable.
What’s keeping the lid on your joy? I’d love to hear from you! Join the journey of real life, hard challenging stuff that life is made of, and get ready to experience joy IN the journey. Don’t wait for the destination!
Cheryl Peachey
“For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:30