Simplifying… me

Writing yesterday’s blog post was fun for me. I smiled as I recalled the awkward airport bathroom moment I shared with my son…and the two women occupying the stalls next to us. (My kids have gifted me with more material for writing than just about any personal experience I have gone through in my life thus far…they are a treasure!) Once completed I uploaded my story, hoping that either it would give someone a good laugh, or perhaps a kindred spirit would read it, relate to it and “feel my pain.” In any case, it was shared, for all intents and purposes, as a good laugh.

Then, as I was lying in bed last night I started reflecting on the idea of being “laid bare”. How absolutely horrifying and humiliating those moments can be – and are – when I’m out in public with my children and something happens that is completely out of my control. Suddenly I am…exposed.

“Hypothetical” situation: We’re at church and it’s time to go home. One out of three decides they don’t want to go, so they stomp their foot down – as if stomping their foot will magically fuse their body to the floor of the church lobby, like a majestic oak tree taking root in fertile soil. In my efforts to uproot this mighty oak, I can see out of the corner of my eye the other two-thirds of my crew running willy-nilly through the foyer, nearly knocking down an unsuspecting senior citizen. The tantrums begin, and I want to scream, cry, hide under a rock and just disappear. It’s not so much because my three spunky and energetic offspring are being naughty (kids are naughty a lot), but in that split second moment my failings are revealed for all the world (my church) to see. Flaws, imperfections, inadequacies, insecurities as a mom – you name it – it is all hanging out there and I have no where to hide. I am laid bare…and that is a very vulnerable and painful place to be.

I simply couldn’t let go of this thought last night. Yesterday’s story was entertaining and funny, as most of my embarrassing motherhood stories tend to become after time. It was the concept of being laid bare that kept me up late into the night. How I hate looking and feeling out of control. As much as I mock perfection I find myself consistently reaching for it, but it is an illusion that no one can quite grasp.

No one – that is – except Jesus.

And it was upon this thought that my mind lingered. Jesus – God in the flesh, but perfect and without sin. Jesus – who had nothing gross, ugly and shameful to conceal – took upon Himself all the sin of the world and was laid bare on a cross. Exposed…for me. He did it for those moments when I lose my cool and “Mean Mommy” appears, saying something foolish and stupid, and I have to run to His feet for forgiveness. He did it for those days when I just can’t seem to get a handle on the chaos and clutter, and I run to Him again for wisdom, strength and guidance. I shudder in my laid bare moments because I somehow think I can pull off perfect, or at least I want to. And yet, Jesus, who really IS perfect, humbly laid Himself bare for me.

I was convicted last night. Not because I wrote a funny story (at least I thought it was funny), but mostly because I forgot to include Christ in my weakest moment. In my weakness, He is my strength. He allows me to mess it up so that I won’t forget just how much I need Him. Everyday. (In every bathroom stall across the country.) I don’t ever want to forget the One to laid it bare for me in my many, many laid bare moments.

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