It’s Sometimes About Being. Not Doing.

Written by this harried mom on June 10, 2015, Miss Letitia was 8, and Trent was 5.

EJ was living with me at the time (he came and went at will), and it was a touch and go situation. But God was bigger than all of it, and He taught me, little by little, that it's not about perfect performance, but about sitting at His feet.

It's more about being, not so much about doing.

And, I'm learning that, I also learned that the most important things touch the hearts of my children...it meant giving up the pretense of perfection...it meant understanding that Jesus understood my heart's desire far above my miserable performance... it meant reaching out and receiving Grace.

Here is the lesson, and the sad, ugly story behind how I began to learn it.

"I kind of gave up this past week. I tried so hard, but even so, I couldn't keep after! It was such a busy week.

The house looked like a hurricane had torn through it, in spite of the fact that my children vacuumed the floor every other day!

The fridge was dirty, again, and I was behind in the laundry. The sink was stacked high with dirty dishes.

EJ didn't eat the lunch I packed him, because much to my embarrassment, a long grisly hair curled around the dinner he was to warm up! (Horrors! How did it ever get there?)

I spent Saturday from 6 A.M. to 12 noon at a flea market promoting my business, which was great, but set me behind even more! I did several parties that week, closed them, and submitted them (computer work.)

I meant to fold a load of laundry, but somehow it got spilled over the carpet, and even though I wanted the children to pick it up, Trent fell asleep before I got him to bed, and Teesha was similarly exhausted.

I prepared to teach Sunday school amid the mess, and fell with exhausted tears into a Saturday night bed, feeling like a Complete failure.

Sunday dawned, bright and clear.

But nothing went right. I huffed and puffed, and urged and bribed, and sternly rebuked, until my children were completely ready for church (the clothes pulled off the spilled laundry pile on the floor!!).

I slid a hastily prepared chicken & rice dinner into the oven for a Sunday Morning Bake, and quickly loaded the dishwasher to run while we were at church.

I was seriously overheated by the time we were ready to leave, and I was dripping with sweat. I felt like I had never even enjoyed my early morning shower.

EJ's lips twitched in amusement as he kissed me goodbye before I left, and I dropped my eyes, and hung my head, and admitted to him that this Sunday thing is hard to swing, and that reality is nowhere near the ideal.

"I noticed," he said with a chuckle, which did nothing to soothe my ire. He went back to his Sunday morning TV.

I got the children into the van, and raced off to church.

15 minutes into the ride, I began to cool down. The children loved to ride in the car with me, and were conversing happily.

I started to listen to the gentle work of the Holy Spirit. He spoke to me as I drove. And since I have 25 minutes to church, I cooled down and calmed down enough to listen to His kind administrations.

I began to realize that it's not so much about what I do, or fail to do, but it's who I am in my heart. It's about the relationship I have with Jesus.

It's not about being perfect, it's about being redeemed. It's about being a part of the Body of Christ, because I can't make it on my own.

It's about giving sacrificially,and then being able to receive graciously with joy.

And it's about being humble about my shortcomings.

The faithful words of Scripture whispered in my heart, "I was an hungered and you gave me meat; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was a stranger and you took me in; naked, and you clothed me; I was sick and you visited me; I was in prison and you came to me."

And I knew with a very certainty, that had others not done this for me, I wouldn't be where I am today. I also knew with a certainty, that I was doing these things for my precious family...no matter how terribly messy it looked.

So, when my Deacon Brother ask for testimonials after the morning message, I told my congregation that I wanted to read some verses to them. I told them that I made lots of mistakes and had endured a stressful week. I told them that I didn't seem to be making any progress at all, but I was grateful that they were willing to stand by me. Then I began to read those wonderful verses.

However, in the middle of reading those verses, I remembered how wretched, and depressed, and deprived my life had once been...even when I compared to now... and in that second, the feelings of being penniless and homeless and forsaken swept over me, and I broke down and wept. (So embarrassing!)

My congregation is increasingly sturdy with emotional Glenda in their midst...they waited until I got a hold of myself. I thanked them for filling in the gaps that gape wide open. I thanked them for accepting me in the Beloved...just like I was, without show or pretense. I tried to convey to them that I couldn't comprehend the love they freely gave even when my performance so lacked. I told them that I could never repay them, but that I hoped that God would bless them richly, and I would do everything I could to pay it forward.

We stood for the closing benediction, and I just couldn't keep the tears from streaming down my cheeks.

I felt so unworthy, so redeemed, and so loved! When the prayer was over, I noticed that my sisters in Christ were weeping right alongside me, and it felt so good, so right, so healing. They are still there for me, even in my failures and weakness. Even when my house was messy, and my performance even messier.

I lifted my head. I dried my tears. I embraced my sisters. I shook hands with my brothers. Words of love and encouragement poured over my wounded heart. A new understanding called me to smile. The failures were still there: my dirty house was still at home waiting on me.

But I had brothers and sisters that were THERE for me-- They somehow, in their acceptance of me in my shame and in my brokenness, helped me to understand that it's not all about doing things perfectly.

It's sometimes about the intent of the heart...even if the performance lacks.

It's not all about Doing.

It's about BEING."

P.S. This is just my story...nothing more or less.

And it's not written to offend anyone, nor attract lots of unheralded advice.

Love, Glenda