Today has been a challenging day for me as a mom.
After a nearly sleepless night up with a feverish baby (103.5, to be exact!), I was trudging through the morning. Things were actually looking up a little as Ava's fever had gone down and she seemed to be feeling better. Having finished lunch, the kids were playing happily and for a moment it was quiet.
And then, the drama.
I had just taken the second bite of my highly nutritious mac 'n' cheese and peas when there was screaming from the back of the house. I jumped up from the table and ran to the hallway. Ari and Aidan were squalking about something, and it took me a moment to assess the situation.
Finally, I realized that Ava must not have been feeling as well as I thought she was. She had had diahrrea, which had leaked out of her diaper onto the floor. Make that poured. But wait, there's more. It had puddled at her feet so every step she took was tracking it all over the carpet. All Ari was concerned with was that it might get on her precious Pet Shops, and Aidan just couldn't stop saying, "Ewww! Gross! That's disgusting!" at the top of his lungs.
I just stared. Who's in charge here? Oh, that's right.
I jumped into mom mode and grabbed the baby. I got her changing pad and diapering supplies, laid her down, and began the task of cleaning her up enough to get her in a bath. I was near tears. The stress of not only today's events but those of the last several months came pouring over me like a tsunami. I miss my mother-in-law. Money is tight. My house is too small. My one car is on its last leg. I'm not everything that I should be as a wife, mom, Christian. I have a lot of messes.
As I grabbed the wipes and set to scrubbing Ava's feet, God spoke to me. Or more accurately, he showed me something. I got the most beautiful picture in my mind. It was Jesus, as he was when he washed the feet of his disciples. According to scripture, he had a towel around his waist and a basin. He was on his knees, a position of service, just as I was at that moment. The disciples feet were dirty. Not just dirty y'all - grimy. Disgusting. Smelly. But in my mind's picture, Jesus was not washing the disciples' feet - he was washing mine. I had "stepped in it" again. And he was patiently, lovingly cleaning me up. Just like he's done a hundred times before. Just like he'll do a hundred times more. But there was no resentment, no impatience, no bitterness in his eyes. Only love.
In that moment, I remembered two things.
Number one, this life is not about me. I am called to live like Jesus, and Jesus served. He gave it all without complaint. So should I. I am not promised a bed of roses in any area of my life, and that's okay because it was good enough for him.
Number two, I am loved. And it is not based on my performance or how well I "measure up" (thank God). It is a love that died for me when I was a filthy sinner. It is a love that works in His time to bring about His will for His glory. And for my good. He doesn't mind washing my feet, because He loves me.
So now all is calm, the floor is clean(ish), Ava is bathed and freshly dressed and the older children are playing and reading quietly. And I have a better perspective. It's funny that God chooses THOSE moments to speak to me. Well, now it's funny.