I wasn’t a great human yesterday. I woke on the wrong side of the bed. Or in the wrong sleep cycle. Or possessed. I was snippy with my husband, short-tempered with my children, and just flat-out surly.
The baby cried as those precious little white pearls tried to push through his tender gums. I talked to him through clenched teeth.
SK had a new haircut to debut at school; she asked for help styling it. I worked on my little diva’s hair with a frown on my face, wishing it were still long enough for a ponytail.
I talked in a loud and frustrated tone to my strong-willed eldest after the course of my day was altered by her forgetfulness. I even tapped a spoon on the counter in cadence with my plea, “I just want you to say you’re sorry! You never apologized!”
The big yellow bus pulled away and I was left with a crying baby and the weight of guilt over a morning stained with my sin.
Jesus took my place on the cross. He took my sin from me. It is as if He was the offender, not me.
I imagined Jesus, clothed in his linen robes, standing in my kitchen yelling at my children. That peaceful face all wrinkled in frustration as the kids goofed off instead of cleaning up their breakfast dishes. I imagined Him looking down at my daughter, condemning her for her unrepentant heart.
I did all of that. But, He was punished for it.
But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. Isaiah 53:5
The echo of my spoon tapping against the counter rang in my head as if it were the hammer in the hand of the Roman soldier. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I wanted to stay mad. To allow the steam from the hot anger to float around me all day. Jesus’ sacrifice doused the flames. His redemption cooled my red-hot heart.
I am forgiven. Forgiven so much. And, I know I don’t always say I am sorry.
Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Ephesians 4:32.
As I did the work necessary to cover for her forgetfulness, I found forgiveness for my transgressions. And hers.
Just as we are called to the Lord’s table (Revelation 19:9), I joined my daughter at her lunchroom table. There we found grace together.
Grace for harsh words spoken in anger. Grace for forgetfulness and pride. And in that grace, Jesus was glorified.