Ever have those moments when you know you are getting it wrong? When you are choosing to do the dishes instead of joining your giggling gang of offspring in front of the TV? When you don’t answer the phone call of a friend in need because you are busy having “me” time? I am having one of those moments right now. Bailey, our oldest really needs my help with his astronomy project and I am frantically texting his dad to find out when in the sam hill he is coming home. Because…I…am…busy!
There is no reply to my frantic plea for help so I go out to help look at the stars. Begrudgingly and without even attempting to hide my annoyance. That will teach him! And just what will it teach him? whispers that annoying goody-goody voice in the back of my head. Am I teaching him that I love him and am willing to sacrifice the little things as well as the big ones in order to help him succeed in life? I say I would jump in front of a bullet for my children and while it seems an unlike scenario, I am fairly confident that I would do so. I would lay down my life for any one of them, so why then am I unwilling to lay down ten minutes of my undivided attention?
It is thoughts like these that remind me just how amazing Jesus is. While on earth, He didn’t just lay down His life for us. He didn’t come down and hang out on the couch for 33 years and then suddenly stand up, brush the Cheetio crumbs out of His beard and off to the cross. His was a life of daily crosses. Every diseased hand He touched. Every broken body He healed. Forget all the miracles! What about all the monotonous, boring things Christ did while He was here. Every splinter He endured working along side Joseph. Every slight He suffered at the hands of the Pharisees. Every boring conversation He patiently engaged in with the disciples. The Son of God came down to from the throne of Heaven and put up with all that and so much more for me. And not only that, but even though He is in Heaven now, surrounded by the majesty of God’s full glory, He still takes time to hear my prayers and intercede on my behalf.
I’m standing there, in the backyard, flashlight in hand trying to find the stupid Big Dipper. And something happens. A bat flies by and scares the pants off us both. We laugh and my heart softens a bit. We hold up the star map again and keep looking. Look up. That’s all I needed to do. Not in at me and all I want. But up, at all I really need. As I stand there, gazing into Heaven, I feel my Savior looking back. Winking from behind those stars. Maybe I taught Bailey something good after all and learned something myself in the process.
Ah, Crab Apples! 