He made a way out for us, same as He did for our children, and our children’s children, and…
We’ll never be perfect, but Jesus is; our only responsibility is to receive the perfecting He offers. Once we’re hidden in Christ, we become hellions on a road to holiness, and one day we’ll understand what it’s like to live completely comfortable in our own skin, fully satisfied with the state of our currently-sin-prone hearts.
Until that day, the best we can do is fail well. When we fail (which we will do, and often) we must get back up, dust ourselves off, and keep walking toward heaven. We must remember that we’re identified with Christ, and that God is in the process of loving the hell right out of us.
In turn, we must teach our children to fail well. If we solely focus on their successes, they’ll quickly grow discouraged because failure is inevitable. I’d rather my kids learn to fail well than to live behind the pretense of perfection.
I’d rather they be real and raw and brutally honest about where they’re struggling, because honesty is where God is.
Do I want well-behaved children who make good choices and function well in society? Yes. Do I want them to mature and develop into people who look more like Jesus every day? Without a doubt. Is it my job to lay the groundwork for them to become those people, to set expectations and boundaries and even dish out consequences when necessary for their benefit and protection? Absolutely.
Is it my job to love the hell out of them? No, it’s really not. It’s actually impossible for me to do. Only the Father has the power and perfection to love them to heaven. It’s His task to be accomplished in His timing, and it’s not a fast process. I can testify because He’s still pretty busy with me at the moment.
I am not identified with my children’s failures or successes. I can’t take credit for either. Their junk is THEIR junk, and I have my own junk that God’s still sifting through. Their wins are THEIR wins, and are theirs to celebrate as children of God.
He’s got His work cut out for Him, but somehow I think He can handle it. He’s got a wild bunch of hellion hearts to capture, and it’s what He does best. He loves us. He loves me. He loves my seven-year-old zany son.
He loves you.
This post originally appeared at Feel Free to Laugh, published with permission.