iRate vs iGrace

​Sylas broke my phone this morning. It was sitting on the counter and he knocked it on to our unforgiving saltillo floor. The front of it shattered so that looking at my phone is now like looking into a kaleidoscope.

I looked over and saw the damage and smiled at him slyly. "Woops," I said, "Oh well."

He broke down.
​
Not meeting my eyes, he sobbed into his chest and sputtered out the words, "I'm sorry, Mama. I'm really sorry."
"Sylas," I said, "it's OK. It was an accident."

He sobbed.

"Look at me, Sylas. Do I look mad? It's OK. It was an accident and maybe I shouldn't have had it there. It's OK, babe."

He walked over and hugged me. I hugged him back. And then he went and sat on the stairs by himself awhile and cried all alone, grieving my broken phone, his clumsiness, or maybe something different. His tears seemed complicated.

Real quick, as an aside, I’d like to take a moment to prove that this is NOT a story about how cool I was when my kid broke my phone. I am going to tell another story.

I have about eight throw pillows. I really love my throw pillows. I can't explain why but they make me feel like a grown up. Maybe it is because they match and kind of bring the room together. Maybe it is because in a pinch I can arrange them just so and feel like the house is clean and organized even though it isn't. Maybe it is because they give the appearance of got-it-togetherness without actually having to have it together. Whatever the case, I probably have somewhat of a dysfunctional relationship with eight yellow pillows. And this is unfortunate. Firstly, because they are pillows and secondly because my kids' favorite past time is to throw them at each other (cleverly named, those pillows). 
One night, after a stressful day-- actually I don't remember if it was stressful or not, but surely, surely I wouldn't have done what I did without the catalyst of a crazy day--I walked in to the living room to see the pillows all over the floor and collapsed into a heap and started moaning with perfect Nancy Kerrigan desperation, "WHY? WHY? WHY??????? I just don't understand WHY nothing can just BE MIIIIIINNNNNEE!!!!!!! WHYYYYYYY???" 

And then, I cried. 

I cried an ugly cry because there were pillows-- pillows apparently intended to be thrown-- on the floor. 

The three kids old enough to scurry around, picked up pillows with half scared/ half entertained eyes darting to me and then to each other. If eyeballs could talk theirs would have said, "What the???? Are y'all seeing what I'm seeing? Jeepers, work faster siblings, faster!"

So. Hear me. I am not the epitome of cool, non freak outs. I am the epitome of inconsistencies and lots of apologizing.

Back to my phone. 

On this particular morning my phone being shattered wasn't ideal, but it wasn't catastrophic either. 

And Sylas found grace. 

I was touched that Sylas was so moved that he needed to be alone for a moment. His feelings overwhelmed him and he didn't want an audience as he went to go feel whatever it was he was feeling. He needed a minute.

He took his time getting it together and I was respectful of his space. When he collected himself, he came to find me and give me hug, eyes squeezed tight. He was so...  grateful. We loved each other well the rest of the day.

The whole thing got me thinking.

I have spent some time comparing my parenting responses when things don't quite go my way, whether it's my phone being shattered or my pillows being strewn about. And it has recently occurred to me that if Sylas knows that he is under grace, if he knows that for certain, perhaps he will come to me more when he has shattered something or thrown something about carelessly. And if he sees me as a safe place to land and heal, whatever his mistake, maybe his earthly mother will help him understand his heavenly Father better, earlier, truer. 

Is there anything else more important? 

In preparation for a retreat that I host, I made a big wooden cross. I don't have many carpentry skills and I had never really driven a nail before. It was more work than I thought it might be. I found that I had to be pretty aggressive with my strikes. If I was going to get my job done, I had to really pound with intention. 

I was sitting on my living room floor driving nails into some two by fours, nails that of course represented my sin, and I noticed that because of the effort driving them required, I was getting kind of mad at those nails. 

And I thought yeah, that’s right. 

I was thinking about my sin, the hard ones, the subtle ones, the hidden ones and I was slamming a hammer into them, driving them away. And the reason that I could aggressively own my faults, take responsibility for my residual ugliness, was because of the certainty of total forgiveness that happened on that cross. 

The only reason that I could go to those dark places, unearth the mess, and offer it up and slam it away is because I know, with certainty, there is no condemnation in Christ.

Truly understanding grace and what Jesus offers and that there isn’t even any condemnation in my sin is the prerequisite to be able to be completely honest about it. 

If I know that I am blameless, I can go to the places that hold me back.
 
And, blameless doesn’t mean sinless.  

Understanding that He has called me blameless allows me to dissect my sinfulness with true curiosity instead of shame. I can go there knowing He loves me, that He isn’t mad at me. Exposure might be painful, but I am convinced that just because something hurts me doesn’t mean that it harms me, for I am under grace. 

Blameless, He says. 

In thinking about pillows and phones, and actions and reactions, and rage versus grace, and that sweet morning full of tears and hugs--I could be wrong, but didn’t Sylas have a pretty big role in his healing?

Sylas, full of sorrow, brought me my busted up phone.

Sylas had to own it and bring it to me.

He had to acknowledge it; he couldn't hide it.

He had to grieve it; he couldn't pretend it wasn't so.

He had to repent; he couldn't blame someone else. 

And then? Those eyes full of tears versus some broken technology? Please! Grace was easy to pour on. Lavishly!

The next step was for Sylas to accept my grace, and move on a little freer. 

I’ve noticed that so many times in the Bible the Lord asks something of us before He moves. 

Moses was asked to lift his staff before the sea parted. The thousands were asked to sit before they were fed with only a two fish and few loaves. The blind man was asked to go wash before he was healed. The servant was asked to fill jars with water before they were turned into wine. Peter was asked to take the boat farther into the lake and lower the net on the other side of the boat before it was filled with so many fish that they couldn’t even carry them in. The man with the shriveled hand was asked to stand up in front everyone before he was healed. Over and over, the Lord requires something, maybe just a little something, before He does something mighty. 

So often I think I am waiting on the Lord, but maybe the Lord is waiting on me.

Waiting on me to see His glory. Waiting on me to admit that I am powerless. Waiting on me to accept His love. Waiting on me to receive His forgiveness. Waiting on me to walk away from sin. 

The Lord is waiting to have a relationship with those He loves. He made the first move when He sent Jesus. But the the move after that? 

And perhaps my most important job as a mom is to encourage Sylas to make the next move knowing my love for him is already whole, as is my forgiveness. Those things are already his. But what comes next is his, too.

Bring it to me, Sy. You'll see that when you do, what's broken doesn't matter.

It is only your heart that does. 
​
Because I LOVE YOU.