As we attempted to ready ourselves to remember Christ's death, my child threw his egg across the table, kicked my bad knee three times setting off a spasm of pain running from my shin to my hip, and had a screaming fit. The full catalogue of his sins this morning runs much longer. Unfortunately, he was not alone in his wretched behaviour.
As the frustration and pain mounted, my husband and I were not in the holiest state of mind. There may have been thoughts of running away, leaving our children far far away. We may have mused about duct tape, baby valium and other less than beneficial parenting techniques. And although our children did all end up in the van on time, parental tempers were running high.
At times like these, we pray. As my husband pulled out of the parking space, I started to ask him to pray just as he began to beseech God for help. Clearly,
Yet as my husband prayed, I was reminded of the real reason we observe Good Friday. To walk into church carrying my frustrations and anger, being so very aware of my failure is to be ready to find the cross. I'm not meditating on my self-righteousness, on how worthy I am of Christ's sacrifice, but of how desperately in need of it I am. And Christ, in His great mercy, shed His blood for moments such as these, for sinners such as me.
Perhaps my penitent, humble and needy heart was what caused me to go directly to the communion table this morning. We were to walk the stations of the cross, ending with communion. But I went directly there and then walked the stations backwards. Perhaps I needed the reminder that forgiveness is the beginning of new life and from there I can walk in freedom to live differently.
The rest of the day was not without bumps. But it was a lot better. So I end the day thankful of all it brought, the good and the bad.