A Tale of Two Cities

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
Sometimes I feel like I'm stuck in the first line of a Charles Dickens novel.
I am barely 30 years old. I have two good feet, perfect vision, a caring husband who is at home with us almost every minute that he is not at work, food in the pantry, warm cozy covers on my bed, a new Bible on my night stand, excellent health insurance, and, as if that weren't enough, three beautiful children.
A great life.
And yet, sometimes, I'm ashamed to say, life feels like the best of times is also the worst of times. {"Worst" being relative, of course. Tonight, as tears streamed down my face, I listened as Brian Williams reported that tens of thousands of orphans in Haiti will not be eligible for adoption for two to three years, if ever. While I sleep in my warm cozy bed tonight, tens of thousands of precious children are hungry and alone on the filthy streets of a broken, desecrated country. oh my heart, God have mercy on us.}
If I'm honest, I admit, most days, I wake up feeling impatient, selfish, and moody. When I can, I shower, put on makeup and mascara and lip gloss to try and look pretty on the outside, but I'm still tired and greasy on the inside. At least once a day, I lose my temper and speak harshly to my children. My house is often a terrible mess. I have a sweet, somewhat rambunctious son who loves to cuddle, say "I wove you Mommy," and sing songs from Disney movies.
But he could be an Olympic athlete in "the art of destruction and mischief." That, and he has a pretty bad temper. On a typical day, just for fun, he eats some toothpaste from the tube, dumps out bottles of nail polish into my cosmetics bag and smashes pieces of crusty biscuit into the carpet with my high-heel shoe. He loves to spit out milk to see where it will land, write with ink pen on the couch cushions....and his baby brother's face and sadly, he's a biter.

But he'll grow out of those things. They are temporary frustrations. Very Small Things. Manageable, to say the least. And yet, I'm so ashamed to admit this, I have a hard time getting past them. Nearly every day, several times a day, I get snared in these tiny things and I start to grumble. I lose the joy of living as His child. I forget who I am.....begin to frown. Fume, get snippy. I lose sight of the Savior.
One day, not too long ago, I felt the heavy hand of the Lord on my heart. I was deeply convicted of my grumbling, my complaining and my impatience. I began to think, "what are these tiny things in light of the wonderful truth that Christ died for my sins?" For all eternity, I have been declared Not Guilty.
Tonight as I read to V and B, I was reminded once again of this magnificent truth. In The Jesus Storybook Bible, I read about a baby, born in a manger. Born in Bethlehem, in a manger because that is where God said it would happen. A King. A Rescuer.
Perfectly obedient, even unto death.
Over 2000 years ago, the penalty for sin was paid. We have been rescued by The Rescuer. We belong to him, held in his righteous right hand.
God in his sovereign mercy, sent someone for me, and for you.
I don't have to live on the best of times/worst of times rollercoaster.
Christ is Lord.
This is good news.

Take THAT crusty biscuit.