Sabbath joy reset

My heart practically never feels "prepared for worship" on Sunday mornings.  Today it felt like my soul limped into church with mud caked on its feet.

Both photos taken by the beautiful and talented Jenny Reid

I'm not sure what it would feel like to have my act together.  When we took our photogenic trip to Williamsburg recently, most of us forgot our pj's, I forgot documentation to obtain our tickets, and both boys forgot their packed suitcases entirely--that's no toothbrush, no clothes, no underwear, for the three-day trip.  Photo evidence confirms this.  The bright side was that Caleb's One Shirt was tie-dyed, which is a good choice if you're going to wear it through nine meals and several tours through dirt.

I think we need a new name for my to-do list, such as "list of the perpetually undone," or, "never gonna happen" list.  Poor Jason spent half the day Saturday wrestling with stubbornly maladjusted Roman shades before declaring that he now knows why the Roman empire fell--the damn shades were too complicated, so Nero set them on fire after they drove him crazy.

I don't think I'm a perfectionist, but my house falls way below my preferred cleanliness standard.

I'm busy [and lazy], we have an active family at home, cleaning isn't my favorite leisure activity; but really, the Sisyphean task of trying to keep on top of it is just demoralizing.

via the iris

Some of my kids are struggling in school.  I wonder, and worry, lately whether I haven't done a good job teaching them or whether I'm doing the right thing with them now.

All of my kids are sinners.  Lately my ears have been ringing with complaints, whining, and infighting.  Add that to my "more miracles to pray for" list.

I frequently feel uncomfortably pudgy--a result of hoping one more helping will make life more manageable--or at least taste good while I put off managing.

All these thoughts muck up my soul-feet by Sunday morning.  I'm worried, trying not to be worried, berating myself for anguishing over first-world problems, distracted, and discouraged. 


At the heart of the weight in my chest is, Am I good enough?

I'm a worrier, I'm a hot mess, I'm a suboptimal housekeeper, and I harbor the very sins I despise in my kids.


Am I good enough?

It's almost like God knew what He was doing when He instituted the Sabbath and set up a recurring weekly day of corporate worship, when we rehearse together, again, the truth.

Yes, we are hot mess sinners.

But His grace is greater.  Jesus took it all.  We are seated with Him in the heavenly places.  We are utterly secure and utterly loved.  He will never let us go. 

He is good enough.  He is so good.  He clothes me in His goodness, wraps me up in it like a fuzzy burrito blanket, and accepts me with joy and singing over me. 

I may not walk into church next week "prepared for worship."  But by His grace, I will once again walk out prepared to worship--singing of the God who sings over me, His beloved, wrapped up in Christ's righteousness and counted good.

I will lift my eyes to the Maker

Of the mountains I can't climb

I will lift my eyes to the Calmer

Of the oceans raging wild

I will lift my eyes to the Healer

Of the hurt I hold inside

I will lift my eyes, lift my eyes to You

I will lift my eyes, lift my eyes to You

-Bebo Norman, "I Will Lift My Eyes"