Friday, April 9, 2010

lyla got mad at me.

as she marched down the hallway towards her room, she paused for one dramatic moment and called me "stupid".

(well, she called me a "stupid googalosh", but since i don't know what a "googalosh" is, i just "dealt" with the "stupid" part.)

as i left her in her room to think about mean words and the effect they have on our hearts, i sat down in the office to compose myself.

i'll admit,  i was rather shocked at the words and tone that came out of my people-pleasing daughter, but i really needed to hide in a room where i could just laugh without getting caught.

a googalosh?  seriously??? 

oh lyla...

tonight, as i sat in a warm bubble bath with clay on my face, i thought about yesterday.  and then i thought about lyla's fear of bugs.  and then i thought of my fear of bugs. (yes, i did a lot of thinking.  the clay had to dry on my face for 20 minutes...)

and then i distinctly remembered being 11, sitting on the top step of our basement stairs with a fly swatter in hand, crying my eyes out.

"why?", of course, would be the correct question to ask in a time like this.

and i would have to tell you, it was because i couldn't kill a fly.

i had been trying to kill this fly for 2 hours.

as i look back now, i'm sure the real issue wasn't the fly, but it was all my 11 year old mind could wrap itself around; the only thing i could control.

and so i lashed out.  at God.

i told Him i hated Him.

(yes, over a fly.)

during the two hours of chasing that darn thing all over the basement, i had prayed that He would help me smash the living daylights out of it and obviously He wasn't listening.

fast forward a few years to a new town, a new school, a new church, a new sunday school where i found myself listening to a lesson on God.  now,  i don't remember the lesson.  i don't remember the teacher's name, other than he and his wife were college students, but i clearly remember being told, when i had admitted to telling God i hated Him all those years ago, that i had committed the unforgivable sin.  i was going to hell.  i was done.  at 11, my words spoken in haste made it so that i was too far gone for God's grace.

i was devastated.

my mom listened as i cried.  as i obsessed about the fact that i was going to spend my eternity apart from Jesus all over a fly.

she waited for a few moments and asked; "kimberley (she may have called me "kimmy", but that's neither here nor there) if you one day told me you hated me and walked away, would you stop being my daughter?"

ummm...hello?  of course not!

"so just like you can never stop being my daughter, you can never stop being His."  

i'm pretty sure at that point we had a little chat about not letting any "unwholesome talk" make its way out of my mouth...

so what does all of this have to do with each other?

can i show you what Jesus showed me as the impurities were being sucked out of my face?

Romans 10:9 (New International Version)
9That if you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.

which led to this:
Romans 8:15-16
15For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, "Abba, Father." 16The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children.

which means that:
psalm 27:10 (Holman Christian Standard Bible)
10 Even if my father and mother abandon me,
    the LORD cares for me.

and He has proven it: 
Isaiah 49:15-16 (New International Version)  
15 "Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
       and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
       Though she may forget,
       I will not forget you!
 16 See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;
       your walls are ever before me.

it wasn't just the impurities sucked out of my face tonight, insecurities and fears were also being eased out as His timeless truths were being soaked into my heart.

just like words spoken in frustration and anger can't stop lyla from ever being my little girl;  there is nothing i can do that will ever cause the Creator of the Universe to glance down at His hands and not see the evidence that proves my adoption into His family.

one of the sweetest sounds i have ever heard are from the sweet little voices that come close and claim me as their own.  no pretense, no questioning.  i am mama and they are mine.

i can only imagine how much sweeter to the ears of Jesus Christ is the voice that claims His gift of salvation, holds on to His scarred hands and boldy calls Him Abba, Daddy; trusting completely that she (or he) is His...