It’s been one of those days. One of those weary soul tiring days where there has been plenty of wonder but an underlying tone of exasperation, with the boys, with myself, with this imperfect world of ours. I have not been the engaged and patient parent I want to be today. I have been tired, snappy and weary of small people and their button pushing ways.
Despite all this we saw donkeys at the farmers market this morning, we helped make Christingles, the boys loved the first half of Mary Poppins and we made it to the Christingle service in one piece. We enjoyed some lovely carols and the message that God came as one of us to be with us in the mess, and to do something about that mess.
Through all my weary sighing that message is still my only hope, the reality that keeps me going in this life, the rock that remains when I have run out of patience, kindness, gentleness and self control. That’s where the joy comes, not covering over the crap but there, when you think you’ve hit the bottom. Something else is there, someone is there, the arms of everlasting love are catching you as you fall. Joy comes not to plaster over the cracks and pretend they don’t exist but as unfailing love in the midst of the falling down house. There are arms that will not let you go.
Mixed metaphors aside. I am glad because of such a reality and I hum quietly to myself the old words that I need when my soul feels this tired of being human. ‘Oh love that will not let me go, I rest my weary soul in thee, I give thee back the life I owe, that in thine ocean depths it’s flow, might fuller richer be.’