My mom becomes pretty frustrated with me at times. She'll try to have a conversation with me about a memory from my childhood, only to find that I have no idea what she's talking about. Clueless. I'm realizing more and more that somewhere along the way I put up a wall and decided to lock away certain memories. Sad.
Some, however, are fresh. Seared in my mind.
I remember Christmas mornings. The anticipation the night before. Big brother making sure little bubba and I heard footsteps on the rooftop. Waking up to a room full of excitement.
I remember summer cook outs. Fresh mown grass. Burgers dripping with bar-b-que sauce. Fresh corn on the cob, and ice cold Coca-Cola...in a glass bottle, of course.
I remember Sunday's. I can close my eyes and smell it as though I was standing in the kitchen this very moment. My mom, our constant. Every Sunday she would wake us up, lay out our church clothes, and take us to the little white church just over the train tracks. Sunday School, then church. I can smell that old church building too. Sweet memories.
Lace dress and patent leather shoes. Make no mistake...I was dressed for Jesus. He loved me in that lace and those shiny shoes, you know. He loved my smile, and my kind obedience to the teachers. He loved me...in my lace, and shiny shoes.
After church was over we would drive home and walk into our house where daddy would be cooking lunch and watching the race. No church for daddy. Only NASCAR. And amazing food. Church was over. No playing in my lace dress and patent leather shoes. Back in the closet they went. Until next week, when we would go meet with Jesus again.
Sad fact: at no fault of my amazing mother at all, I began to attribute the love of Jesus to my lace dress and patent leather shoes. She NEVER insinuated that. Ever! I suppose it was an assumption. The love of Christ was unshakable because of lace and shiny leather. Sweet little obedient girls with smiles on their faces. Those were the ones that Jesus loved.
But what about during the week while the lace hung in the closet, protected from being ripped or dirtied? Did He love me then? Was His love there only when I was sweet and smiley, or was His love strong enough to love me when I was disrespectful to my mom? Or when I was mean to my little brother?
Of course it was. It is. He IS love. And that love is based on Him, not me. Not my lace, or shiny leather. Not my rule following, self-righteous religion. Him. His blood. Nothing else.
However, somewhere along the way we decide that if we could just wear that lace and shiny leather every day, no one would see. No one would see who we truly are underneath. No one would see the sin sick condition of our soul.
Or would they?
Would they see that the lace is torn from all of the bitterness I harbor in my heart? Would they see the patent leather is scuffed from the rage that boils within me? Maybe. Maybe not. But there is One who sees. No lace can hide the guilt from Him. No leather, no matter how shiny, can hide the disobedience. At all.
I'm still learning what His love really means. His grace. His mercy. I don't fully understand His goodness. How and why would He, the Creator of the universe, love me? Staggering.
I'm learning that the very grace He used to save me fits together with the mercy He extends to forgive me.
Our sins change as we grow older. We spiral from arguing with a sibling, or telling a "little white lie", to all manner of addictions, immoral thoughts or actions, bitterness, unforgiveness, anger, rage, gossip, slander...there are so many. No matter the sin, His blood covers and His love forgives.
His love is not dependent on fresh lace and shiny leather. Thankful for that truth! His grace abounds slap dab in the middle of our weakness, and enables us to walk in His strength. In our sin...in our torn lace and scuffed patent leather, His mercy triumphs.
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