Love and Grace

It’s been thirty years since I sat in that hospital room, waiting for someone with just a little bit of common sense to walk in and speak some truth into the situation. I mean, seriously? They were going to let me take this baby home? What were they thinking? What was I thinking?
Ten little fingers and ten sweet toes and raspberry lips in a bow. Long eyelashes resting like silk on creamy, white skin. And a sweet, baby smell that completely undid me. Didn’t these people know that if I took this baby home I would break him? Where was the instruction booklet? Where was the test to see if I knew what I was doing? Seriously. What were we thinking?
Who among us really knows what she’s doing when we make a baby and bring him home? When we send him to kindergarten, or give him the keys to the car, or drop her off at college, or move her into her very first apartment with the door that sticks and the bottom step that squeaks?
Back in that hospital, no one ever came running down the corridor, waving their arms in the air and shouting, “Wait! Stop! This woman cannot take this baby home! She has no idea how to be a mother!” Nope. They just calmly brought me the papers to sign, made me sit down in the wheelchair, and put that baby in my arms. Then, we rode down the elevator and through the door of the hospital without even one glimmer of hesitation from any of those hospital people. The security guard didn’t even glance in my direction!
So, we did the only thing we could do. We grew up together. Along the way we broke each other. And we healed each other. And we kept growing up together. There’s just no way around the mistakes. There is no getting through this motherhood thing without a heartbreak or two or three. There is no escaping sleepless nights and tough decisions.
So I'm still working on giving myself permission to be the imperfect mother that I was/am. Because perfect is just too much pressure. I’ll never get there. Not this side of heaven. But I've got two things that make it all work. I’ve got love and I’ve got grace. The thing I'm really good at? I'm good at loving those ten fingers and toes and the way that baby smells and the way they grow and make us grow right along with them. And I am learning that God has grace enough to fill in all the places we fall short~ yes, even after 30 years.  My grandchildren are God's reminder to me that I did well and I get to do it differently, as a grandparent. 

So let me encourage you to go ahead. Be your imperfect self – head over heels in love with that baby or that toddler or that teenager or that college graduate or grandchild. And hang on tight to God, letting Him fill all the empty spaces with grace.

(Inspired by  Dierdra)