Spinning Plates While Doing a Pirouette

I need to be honest.

I have nothing to bring to the plate. Or maybe I should say plates. What plates? Oh, those fifteen porcelain ones that I am spinning while doing a pirouette in this thing they call “young motherhood”.

And let me tell you why that is cheeks-covered-in-tears incredible. Because in the rare moments where I embrace my inadequacies in light of Jesus' all-perfect adequacies, I am closer to who I am supposed to be than in any other moment.

When I show up to Jesus empty-handed and desperate I hear Him whisper, "Finally. You came to me without meaningless trinkets and trophies. You came to me with the only gift you have to give: your ragged and wasted heart."

I moved to L.A. when I was seventeen to pursue an acting career. The biggest problem with that was that I resolved to not be in movies that were violent or sexual, and I didn't want to swear, glorify the drug lifestyle, do nude scenes, be involved in partying or even smoke a cigarette. Needless to say, I quickly realized those roles didn't exist–and Kirk Cameron is the only person that would've cast me.

A role about someone doing the right thing all the time? It doesn’t exist.

That’s one of the greatest gifts in my new role as mother and wife is that I don't get it right all the time. Every moment I'm allowed the freedom be my kids' mom is a gift. Every moment. The tantrum moments. The first step moments. The kisses goodnight moments.The barely-breathing moments. The lose-my-temper moments. The I'm-sorry moments.

Even when I've got broken nails and split ends, my son calls me a princess. My daughter lights up the minute I walk into the room and melts into a puddle of tears when I leave- now that's what I call a fan.

When I still try to do the casting in my own life story, I remind myself whose the star is by reading Ephesians. Paul writes, "Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God."

Be imitators of God, as beloved children.

My three-year old son looks like my husband. They have mannerisms that are spookily identical. My son imitates my husband because they are father and son. They are cut from the same cloth.

We can only be imitators of God if we address the issue of ownership. Of belonging. Of vanity. Children are like their fathers they share the same blood. And our belonging was bought when love poured from split veins so we could spend days knee-deep in cheerios exercising sore biceps to lift littles with runny noses.

And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

Jesus flipped the script. Sacrifice took the spotlight.

So the next time I drop a porcelain plate when I let my life spin a little too fast, I will be reminded that we are beloved because were broken.

We're in this together,

M

To see the video of me reading this blog to my Reach Church family, go here: https://vimeo.com/95484025