My husband is the most encouraging, loving, helpful man I have ever met. He puts no expectations on me, he helps with laundry, he knows where all of the dishes go...
This isn't his problem.
It's mine, and it got even worse with motherhood.
Every action, every thought, every mistake, I hear the taunts, feel eyes on my back. Waiting.
And the pressure, oh, the pressure. I want to be right for my Jesus. I love love love Him. I need to be close to Him.
So I worked and I worked and I worked. Submit to my husband. Stop that anger. Hush that worry.
Chiding myself for even making mistakes, even having a moment of not-put-togetherness.
And then I saw it. The cross, and the shame that I was making of it all.
My efforts, my need to have my own version of perfection, it shames Him, it doesn't allow Him to do what He set out to do.
Instead of letting wife-hood and mommy-hood and friend-hood be accusers, I let them be illuminators.
Illuminators into my imperfections.
Oh, I love the imperfections. My Jesus can work with those. He can do something with those.
He is grace. I come every morning a mess, and I leave every moment renewed.
