Have I mentioned that I love blogging? I love blogging. This is why I'll temporarily be pausing Pink Dryer Lint for the remainder of this calendar year. Now, now -- don't cry. It won't be that long. Since the end of the year provides an appropriate time of reflection, I thought that I'd do just that: reflect.
Considering that I, as the author, have entirely forgotten about multiple posts buried in the Pink Dryer Lint archives, I'm guessing that you, as the reader, have as well. Or, perhaps you're new and never had the chance to read the original postings.
So, I'll air them out, dust them off, and revisit some of my favorites. One old blog entry will be resposted each day until we reach 2012.
In the meantime, new ideas are percolating. They'll be ready when I return. Thank you so much for reading along; I'm so humbled and grateful!
Blog Pause Day 1: Of all my posts, this is one that I'd truly love for all of my readers to know.
Originally posted February 4, 2011
Whenever I've lifted Kerrington from her crib after her naps this week, the first thing I've noticed is the snot. She's sick and cutting her first tooth, leaving the dear baby caked with snot. It seeps from her nose to her upper lip. As she nuzzles her head into her crib sheet, she streaks her face and hair until it dries, crusted and yellowed.
Her skin, normally fair, has chapped. Her eyes, normally vibrant, show weariness.
I love this child despite the snot. I pick her up, hold her close, and let her rest her head on my shoulder. I listen to the sound of her congested breathing and run my hand up and down her back. All the while I let her nuzzle into me, conforming her small body into my own, and together, we sit.
She doesn't resist me. As I draw her close, I know that I'm inviting mess into my arms. I do it willingly, without judgment.
Kerrington doesn't have to clean herself up before I hold her. She doesn't need to wash her own face before I can see its beauty. She's welcome in my arms, no matter what state she's in.
Thankfully, God feels the same way about us.
I have moments when I'm rather snotty. Moments when my heart harbors frustration and I speak sharply to my kids, moments when I lose my patience. It's unattractive, and yet, whenever I come to God and present myself caked with ugliness, he extends his arms to draw me close again. Willingly. Without judgment.
I shouldn't resist him. He's not repelling me. But he does want to clean me up.
Although I accept Kerrington snotty, I prefer her clean. I wet a washcloth and dab her face, gently softening and wiping away the crustiness. I soothe her chapped skin with mild lotion. This cleaning process -- this process of getting things right -- is what she'll resist. She flails her head and arches her back, but I gently proceed, knowing how much better she'll feel when it's done.
I don't tell her, "Kid, you got yourself into this mess, so you can get yourself out of it." I don't let her wallow in it. No parent does this, and God, as a good parent, does the same. He dabs at the ugliness, the impatience, the striving in my heart. Sometimes I flail, arching my back and resisting the change, but we both know that I'll feel better when I'm clean.
I love my kids despite their snot.
God loves his kids despite our snot. And just loves us too much to leave us that way.