Forgiveness vs. Change

More than forgiven, I need to be changed.

It was a summer of regretted tempers. I love my kids; anyone who knows me knows how much I deeply love and cherish my kids. But these days, their childish behaviors and childlike foibles have been like pebbles stacked high, tipping the teeter-totter of my equilibrium. It has gone so far south that I have heard morning prayers for the boys escaping my lips with the tag, “…and help mommy not lose her crackers today” – a new low.

To be fair, it is not unreasonable for my temper to have been challenged. First of all, in addition to the realities of 24/7 summer parenting hours, my husband traveled more than usual in June, July and August. Solo parenting: Approximate weight in stress = fifteen pebbles. Secondly, we have had a string of unfortunate events in our household lately. The boys broke a window in their room while wrestling on the bed – an activity that previously had been prohibited in that location due to its placement next to two windows. Twenty-two pebbles. The boys broke the heavy-duty, three-foot hinge, which secured the lid onto their pine toy box, by jumping on the lid when too many toys prevented its even closure. Forty Pebbles. The boys painted their feet blue with a staining, water-based paint intended for woodworking crafts. To their credit, they were outside when they painted their feet. But then they decided to come in and show me their artistic expression, walking their blue peds all over the linoleum and carpet. We rent. EIGHTY-NINE HUNDRED PEBBLES.

My crackers erupted like a volcano after that last experience. I sought refuge in my walk-in closet, regaining composure and praying for supernatural help. Like many moms, I find myself running to make a quick connection with the Lord, vent my plate of pebbles and expect a mood-altering response of grace that includes unrealistic patience, unending kindness and a nice, steady heart rate. While I might find center for about two minutes, I spew cracker-crumb lava again as soon as the kids, who haven’t sought the same help, repeat their offenses. I need a miracle of lasting change.

In September, Tom Hughes, who is one of the pastors at my church, preached from the gospel of John, using the text that begins the day after Jesus had fed thousands of followers with a miracle multiplication of bread and fish. The crowds were clamoring for more. They embodied a host of desperate needs, and they wanted their cravings to be indulged by the magic man. “Jesus replied, I tell you the truth, you want to be with me because I fed you, not because you understood the miraculous signs. But don’t be so concerned about perishable things like food. Spend your energy seeking the eternal life that the Son of Man can give you” (John 6:26-27).

I have to compartmentalize my theology in order to apply Jesus’ words to my heart. I believe that my God cares about the nitty-gritty details of my daily struggles – that He delights to engage, pacify and intervene. Concurrently, I believe that the nitty-gritty details of my life simply do not matter in light of the greater actions of a God whose personal ultimate sacrifice results in my redemption. One belief without the other creates an opportunity either to take advantage of God’s grace, or on the other hand, to miss the beauty of a relationship with the eternal Immanuel.

More than forgiven, I need to be changed.

I wonder, though, if by retreating to an internal space that includes God and his “gimmies,” I am missing the finer points of eternal life. Forgiveness, redemption and life after death are immeasurably valuable. But if there is not a daily benefit to living for Christ while still on earth, then I am left questioning God’s intention with his creation. For this mom with three young kids, it is the need for change that outweighs my need for forgiveness in the here and now. I don’t want to make the same damaging mistakes over and over and over again. I need an eternally available source of moment-by-moment life. I need eternal life.

More than forgiven, I need to be changed.

Think of it this way: If I yell at my children, I can be forgiven when I ask for it, erasing the marks against me, removing my pebbles from the scale. I go unpunished, but not without consequence. My children bear those scars. And so my cold, inanimate, rock-hard heart screams for an exchange only Jesus can offer. I need a heart of flesh, not a refillable plate of pebbles. That is why I need the miracle maker. Not to wow me, but to transform me. Transformation takes time, attention, grace and application. That was Jesus’ point to the crowd who wanted more alluring charms. He said the signs and wonders are nothing without relationship with the source. Just like ordinary bread, the Bread of Life requires daily consumption to provide balanced nutrition. Gorging in the closet cannot provide what I need. Instead, I need to spend my energy, consciously, regularly and intentionally seeking a God who delights to engage, pacify and intervene, but most of all, a God who delights to feed.

More than forgiven, I need to be changed.