Sacred Mundane: The Blog

Where was Heidi?

Last week we were all cleaning up, singing the clean-up song, adding silly lyrics and being ridiculous, when I realized Heidi wasn’t in the room.  I peeked in the kitchen, not there, then pushed open our bedroom door. I heard a slight rustle so I silently tiptoed along the side of the bed and peered over the footboard.

She was peeking at a particular pink gift tucked into a gift-bag.

Startled, she looked up at me, eyes-wide, and her face froze. I knew what would happen. I was her 29 years ago. Her lower lip began to quiver and for several moments her face slowly contorted as she tried to hold it in — but it gushed out.

Wail. Sob. Hysterical crying. Caught guilty she melted in a heap of tears. I can remember exactly  the same feeling. I would do naughty things when I was little but had the most sensitive spirit, from a young age, that when “caught” (even “caught” in my heart, before my mom would know!) I would collapse, hysterical, ridden by guilt and conviction. My mom rarely had to spank me because I was so upset already that the discipline was already done.

I held out my arms to Heidi and she ran into them. Tears streaming down her face, burying her face in my neck, refusing to look up. Jeff, who had followed me in and seen the whole thing, began to talk to her. She hid her face deep in my neck, wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t look at him.

She sobbed, took a breath, “I wan’ go to bed.”

“It’s not bedtime — you want to go to bed now?”

“Yes! Pease I need go to bed!”

“Do you want to go to bed because you know you did naughty?”

She just broke down again, dug her face deeper in my neck, wouldn’t answer.    Oh sweet girl I understand.

“Heidi, I know you want to go to bed and hide because you did naughty, but Mommy is not mad.  I just want you to tell mommy you’re sorry for looking at things you shouldn’t, and ask mommy to forgive you.”

I thought it would take coaxing but it came quick. I remember that feeling too — tormented by guilt is a horrible place to be.

“Mommy, I sowey for looking at thing I shouldn’t. You please ‘uhgive me?”

I smiled wide, nuzzled her nose, make sure she sees my smile all the way through my eyes.

“Yes, baby-girl. I forgive you. Thank you for telling me. Mommy loves you.”  Then she asks if we can get a blanket and snuggle together.  Of course I find the softest one — the one from the foot of our bed — and we snuggle up together. Inhale each other’s breath.

“Mommy, I wan’ keep you forever.”

“I wan’ keep you forever too babygirl.”

—

Oh sweet girl, I remember being you. I remember sneaking into mom’s closet one December day 28 years ago. Seeing the brown stuffed teddybear with the homemade sweater mom had knit for it. I saw it, then was plagued with guilt. Overwhelmed. It ruined all the joy.

It made me want to hide.

Because that’s what sin does. Every time. From humanity’s first sin we’ve done it. What did Adam and Eve do right after eating the fruit? They hid from God.

Humanity’s been hiding ever since.  From God and from each other. 

But once again I will sing this same song: There is freedom in repentance.  As my son says it, “When we say sorry, Jesus forgives.” He does, when we confess our sin He is faithful and just to forgive us our sin and cleanse us of all unrighteousness. He pulls us close, looks us in the eyes, smiles a smile that warms our souls and heals all that’s broken.

Is there anything that’s making you hide, dear friend? That shame and guilt need not be yours! Go quick to confession — He’s waiting to hold you near. Thanks for reading ….

 This may be an odd after-Christmas greeting, but can I just be really honest for a second: Do you sometimes truly just despise yourself?

I mean despise. Do you sometimes look around at your life and realize how repulsive it is? No, I don’t mean you are some criminal or live some secret despicable life. I mean you live a real life. A “normal” life. And I tell you that this past week I cannot shake it. I look around and all I can think is, “Who am I kidding?”  Who on earth am I kidding?

The inclinations of my heart are wicked. I, who truly more than anything want to seek God and follow Him, I read the page in Romans 3 and the only thing missing is my name.

“None is righteous, no not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God. All have turned aside; together they have become worthless; no one does good, not even one.”

Like the meat rotting in the back of my car, I continually unearth pockets of pride in the corners of my life. (Every. Single. Day.)

And for a too many seconds I listen to the slithering serpent’s suggestion: Hide. Run away, hide it all. There is no “little light of mine” to shine so quit holding your ridiculous arm in the air. Who are you kidding?

And for a moment the offer looks good. Run away. Hide. Just cover up that rotten meat. Duct-tape up the windows so no one can see in. Get the bushel and crawl underneath.

And then, by some miracle. Christmas comes.

And I read ofL’Enchante.

And I remember again that Christ came to a stinking stable. A stinking stable.

It might as well have been my home.

And if I am hung up on my poor performance I have not understood His perfect performance. I have not understood the gospel. His resumé in place of mine. His beauty for my ashes. His joy for my sorrow. His riches for my poverty. His righteousness for my rags.

I can hang Christmas lights around my home but it still reeks of the sinners who inhabit these rooms. Without His daily grace we are utterly lost. He came into the filthiest places. I will cling to this. And I will trust this, when I look down, in, deep, and see the absolute bankruptcy of my soul, I will not get lost in the darkness but turn, look up and hear:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

Christmas may be over, but what if we lingered in the stable? I am always the first to leave. I don’t want to wear out my welcome. Never want to let that silent awkwardness set in. Leave before it gets too quiet. Keep things moving along.

But what if, this week, before we looked ahead to 2012,  we lingered a little by His side? Like L’Enchante. And when we looked around that stinky stable we might recognize our own home. Our own lives. And we might find ourselves bowed low all week in humble thanks that He has entered our filth and is making us new. What if we lingered in our adoration? The tree will come down, the wrapping paper stuffed into trash bags, fir needles vacuumed, stockings stowed for yet another year.

But what if we stayed low, kneeling to adore Him? What if, just as we slowly, carefully, prepare through advent, what if we slowly, carefully, reflected upon His birth this week? What if we were careful to look back before we dare look forward?

I really just want to stay here and adore Him. I think you probably do too. And I know my home is a stinking stable and my heart is even worse, but He came into this place and He is here and He is mine and nothing can separate me from the love of God. 

{Linger this week by His side. He is in the middle of your mess. Stop, bow, worship Him there. Thank you for letting me be real in this place. And thanks for reading.”.