He won't grow weary

By dinnertime Monday evening, I was fried. It had been that kind of Monday for our family. The kind when we all tried quite unsuccessfully to recover from a busy and long weekend while getting a good jump on the week. I was snippy, I was losing my patience, I was annoyed.

"Jesus, I'm sorry for today. Help me enjoy the process," I prayed that night after I wearily tucked my children into bed, repenting to each one individually for my harshness, short-temper, and general irritation.

I get tired of hearing myself pray that. So, so, so tired. And sometimes-- a lot of times-- I am arrogant enough to superimpose my weariness with myself on Christ.

The truth of the matter is that He doesn't grow weary with me. 7x70 times, He forgives me. A broken and contrite spirit He will not deny.

Yesterday in the later afternoon, as I sat in the sunshine, enjoying the brilliant colors of this spectacular autumn, listening to my children play, nursing my baby, relishing the fact that even though the prior few days had been far from perfect, they had been joy-filled days, I realized that He had-- once again-- come to my rescue. In the midst of my exhaustion and defeat, He heard my repentance (repentance uttered in much doubt, if I'm honest) and He was again meeting me in my place of need.

No filter, guys. Just beautiful sunlight and a smooshy baby to kiss.