I don't have a lot of time this morning, but I feel the overwhelming need to remind myself of something, and perhaps there is another worn out mom who needs to hear the same thing.
God wants so much to draw us to Himself. This is what the gospel reading is about today. Christ uses the simile of a hen drawing her chicks under her wing, so does he want to draw us to Himself. What a funny image. A robust, full breasted-hen, full of warmth and love just trying to pull her little aimless chicks to under her wing, because she knows that she can keep them safe, she can shield them from the fox that might be prowling, or the wind and the rain that might weaken their tiny constitutions. But what does Christ say in the same breath? "You were not willing." He longs to bring us to Himself but we just won't come. We know what's best, we have a better idea, we're pretty sure we're already doing what he asks anyway.
I saw this play out in perfect form about 30 minutes ago when my almost four-year-old wouldn't obey me. She is a magnificent little lady with all kinds of personality and ideas and a stubborn streak to rival her mother's. She is a tom-boy princess in the midst of five brothers constantly striving to make her own way...and she's only 4! And for some reason, she burns my fuse faster than any of my boys ever have (that's probably a topic for another post: why our relationships with our daughters can be so challenging). She was in her room, I went in to hold her and tell her she should come out and asked her the question I always do "what did you do wrong." Suddenly, she recoiled, sat back, crossed her arms and said "I don't know." So I asked again, "you can tell mommy, what did you do wrong?" Now she says "I want you to say it." This goes on for a minute or so until she decides naming her sin is not worth her freedom and so there she sits. She's not afraid of me, she knows I love her, she knows I will forgive her, but there she sits.
I do this all the time with God. He reaches out to me, knowing what's best for me, knowing how to protect and love me and I decide that I would rather sit in my room on my bed because being in his presence can cause me to look deeper into myself and maybe I don't want to do that yet. Or, being in his presence makes me realize how much I really need Him, ALL the time and I still want to think that I can do it on my own.
The funny thing is I know enough to know that I cannot do it without Him. I am the first one to admit that I need Him everyday to make me loving, and patient and kind. But saying I need Him, and actually allowing Him to help are two very different things. Saying I need him when all is calm is easy, makes me sound holy even, but allowing him to help me when the two-year-old and the three-year-old are screaming and violently tugging back and forth with some toy that suddenly is worth their lives, while the five-year-old yells at the eight-year-old to let him pick the cartoon, but the nine-year-old knows better so he just usurps the remote and makes a decision that makes everyone angry, all the while I am just trying to pee with the door closed. Oh and does anyone hear the baby because I'm pretty sure he's screaming too. Out of the protection of his wing, these moments will make me crazy, make me yell or even cry, but in the shadow of his wing I find the patience, the perspective and the humor to deal with the chaos. Sometimes a nice cocktail at the end of the night helps too.
When I woke up this morning all I could think about was how tired I was and how much more tired I was going to be tomorrow. Because today we have costumes and candy and door to door madness with 7 children followed by an early morning and more costumes and saint reports and saint parties. But when will I learn that all God is really asking is for us to draw near. Bring our burdens and our impatience, our fatigue, and ineptitude, our bad attitude and frustration and lay it down under his wing. He promises to replace it with joy, with perspective and hope, with love and strength that can only come from Him. It's only when we realize that we have nothing left to give that he can transform our mourning into dancing, our tears into laughter and our weakness into strength. He is sitting and waiting. All we have to do is come.
