Grace at the Foot of the Cross

I find myself at the foot of the cross, seeking to be washed in grace.

The weather was rubbish.
One of the children lied to me.
Two more argue over who was first to the cereal.
Another has a weeks worth of fruit she hasn’t eaten left to rot in her school bag.
The youngest is terrorising the place like a Tasmanian devil.
My husband and I, we are tired.
It’s only 6.50am.

I want a home of truth tellers, sibling friendship, energy and order. But instead I wrestle the knots in my stomach and they get tighter. Words of frustrations are falling out my mouth like a gut throwing out an ugly virus. My body is feeling like a wet rag being wrung out, squeezed, twisted tight and I’m on a fast track to not remembering what grace is.

By mid morning I’m brought bending low, heart wrenchingly but by now willingly to my knees, and I’m at the foot of the cross again. Seeking grace again.

How could it happen again? My feeling’s running away with me. Letting myself be washed away with distracting moments and my choice of ungratefulness.

How oh God do I even dare let that choice have any kind of dominance?

Because what, I’m not feeling it? I do not feel the love? I do not feel the joy? I’m just too tired and do not have the energy for thanking you. I’m just a little bit too upset right now to find something to give you thanks for Jesus. Maybe another day when I feel better. When I have a happier day. When life is just a bit easier. Then I’ll be grateful. Then it will be easy to find something to thank you for. Right now though, my life feels like it’s falling apart. So I won’t thank you, not for anything.

Did you feel like it Jesus? Was it not too much trouble for you? Were you having a happy enough day to do all that for me Jesus? Did you have a good enough night sleep? Did you feel the love and support of your disciples? Were your family all in good health that you felt able to do it and was your life not particularly troubled Jesus?

You know, when you, Jesus, the Son of God, when you were abandoned, betrayed, accused by liars. When you were beaten and broken and abused. Your skin clawed and shredded. Your face bashed and disfigured. Your head stabbed with hundreds of thorns. Your body paraded bare for crowds to leer upon. To be spat on. When you were nailed and hung on a cross for hours, left to die under a burning sun, with burning wounds, with lungs bursting from your chest burning for breath. When as the thick darkness weighed heavy in the air around you, the powers of hell burned your soul.

Your soul, Jesus. Over flowing with my sin, Jesus. Separated from your Father when you had never before in your eternal existence been without Him.

You Jesus, never giving in until it was once and for all finally, fully, finished.

Oh Jesus. No. How dare I.
Forgive me forgive me forgive me.
Thank you thank you thank you.

Thank you for flowers. Blue skies. Rainbows.
Thank you for laughter. Sunshine. Rain.
Thank you for picnics. Friends. Pictured memories on the wall.
Thank you for little wet footprints on the floor and sticky smudged handprints on the windows.
Thank you for tears that release the pain.
Thank you for your word that breathes life.
Thank you for family who hurt together, who offer forgiveness and grace in the shadow light of you.
Thank you for failings and humbled humility that makes me bow low and lean into you.
Thank you for death that brings me home to you.
Thank you, oh my Jesus, for the cross and your resurrection.
Thank you for your salvation of sinners.
Thank you for your love.
Thank you that you love me, that you rescued me. Thank you that you chose to suffer for me.

Why did you do it LORD?

You did it because there was no other way. Only your blood destroyed death. You did it because you love the Father and because the Father and you love me.

So I will thank you, no matter how I feel, I will stand at the foot of the cross again and again, being washed in your grace again and again, because I love you too, because you first loved me.

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