One of my favorite things about home is a crazy little eight-year-old boy named Michael. Tonight, Michael was very excited for dessert: sweet, powdered-sugary lemon bars. He was so excited for dessert that he hardly wanted anything to do with his dinner and ate only what was absolutely necessary to appease his responsibly health-conscious, dinner-before-dessert-minded mother.
After rushing through his veggies, it was finally dessert time. Perhaps a bit too eager for his own good, he accidentally dropped the sticky, powdery mess onto the floor. Mom had stepped out of the house at this time, which left me in charge when his tattling sister came running. Michael, expecting me to be upset, was surprised and relieved when I just laughed at the mess he’d made, gave him a big hug, and started picking it up. Sweet, silly boy.
I saw so much of myself in Michael’s nervous, guilty expression. Most times that I find myself in those big, sticky messes, my first response is to feel ashamed: ashamed of what I did or didn’t do, what I said or hadn’t said, or how I somehow failed to make the right decision. I’m so thankful for little moments like this one tonight. I’m so thankful for the reminder that, in spite of my past, present, and future messes, I am forgiven and loved by my Father who will always come to my rescue and pick up the pieces.