Oh man

I was talking to my friend yesterday about the devil.  Not our typical topic of conversation.
Well, I never think about him.  And she said that because of a certain situation, she knew she should be looking for ways that he would be attacking her that week.  And she said that he did.
And I thought, "That guy?  Is he even around?  I'm doing just fine.  He doesn't seem to bother me."  I don't know why I said that.  I'm a dork.

I think he heard me say it.
You know when things go perfectly wrong?  Like, not just, darn my kid is fussing in the grocery store, but, @%$&!, I'm supposed to be leading a devotion in one hour and I just screamed at my child, someone pooped in their pants and they're going to make us late.  And while we're loading into the van and I'm still snapping at them to hurry and buckle, and I slam my head into the door.  All of that didn't actually happen recently, but at some point in my life they have.
So, when a whole pile of stuff comes and wrecks my dream for that day, I never know whether to attribute it to the devil trying to interfere with my awesome devotion (haha, joke), or it's the Lord deciding I need to be slapped up side the head because my heart is not right.

Either way, when things are perfectly, devastatingly, terrible leading up to something that I feel is highly important to me, I want to control this highly important thing.  But when everything is falling apart, I just have to step back and say, "What's going on here?"  It's not just me in my little 20' radius with my kids screaming and messing up my plan.  It's this orchestrated story playing out, for my heart and for His glory.  How am I going to respond to it?

Well, I usually do a bad job, but sometimes the Lord gives me compassion for my kids.  And even sweeter, He gives them compassion for me.

Claire made me cry the other day.
I was going to lead a devotion at my friend's shower, with all the ladies attending who ever watched me grow up in my old church.  I had pages of notes; piles of wisdom.  The evening was going to be just great.  Then the girls came home from school and it was time to hurry up and do home work, shower, eat some spaghetti, drop the younger ones off with my Grandma, and then go to the shower and speak.

We were on a tight schedule, but then Claire brought home 9 pages of home work.  She sat in a chair and cried about that.  Then I said it was shower time and she nearly spilled out of her chair crying.  She hates showers.  I just didn't have time for this.
Long story short and details cut out - we were not nice to each other.  She eventually showered while she cried.  I said to Nathan, "I can't go talk to people now, I just lost my temper with Claire.  I don't feel like being looked at or listened to."

And I realized the lies of the devil were creeping in, telling me that my performance determines whether I'm loved and accepted by Christ.  I told Claire I was sorry and I told Jesus I was sorry.

I took deep breaths and talked to the ladies.  Claire and Riley were there too, so Claire sat there and listened to me confess my own struggle with the gospel in marriage and all of life.
I try to read marriage books and mothering books, and keep the list of how to's to save my marriage, or my kids, or any relationships.  But I make a bad Savior.  The list of how to's is a terrible, failing gospel, even though I do try to make it my gospel.
I talked about having compassion rather than anger toward our spouse and/or children.  If our response is disgust and anger, we're essentially saying, "I can't go there with you in your sin.  I can't love you through that."  We're severing that relationship because we don't believe "I am the worst of sinners".  But it's a lie, and we all need a Savior.  So all we can really do is look at their sin and say, "Yep, me too.  I'm struggling right there with you."  And we run to Christ together.

When I was done, I came and sat down with my girls and Claire rushed to my lap and hugged me and put her hands at both sides of my head and smashed her face up against mine.  There is nothing like the child you've wronged pouring compassion on you.  It's sweet and sad and beautiful all at the same time.