Prevailing Purpose

On Sunday, March 15, I sat in my living room after bedtime with a pair of safety scissors, construction paper, and an optimistic attitude. I had realized about half an hour before that St. Patrick’s Day was in two days, and I decided I wanted to share his famous prayer with my kids. I figured it would be a fun surprise to do a quick craft and hang it in our living room for us to remember and talk about for the next couple of days. But as I sat free-handing clovers, I heard the sounds of sickness down the hall in my son’s room.

Sure enough, it seemed he had a stomach bug for the third time in a month. Twice in just a week.

Once he was clean and back to sleep, I considered abandoning my silly craft. I looked at the wonky letters and thought with certainty that my time would be better spent resting. But as my eyes fell on the prayer I intended to teach my kids, I knew that I would need the truth it held in the days to come. Especially if we were entering into another round of illness.

Thankfully, the next day it became evident that he did not actually have the stomach bug, but instead had overindulged in some secret sweets that upset his tender stomach. While relieved, this didn’t have the desired effect on my attitude that it should have. I was still grumpy, still short with my family, and by 9 am I was confronted by my seven-year-old.

I was frustrated by all the requests my kids had already made, the ambiguity of the day ahead due to canceled plans, and had been speaking unkindly and loudly to my kids. That’s when my boy stood in front of me and placed his little hands on my shoulders, looking me dead in the eye.

“Mom, don’t worry. I help. Take a deeeeep breaf.”

I wish I could say that this was well received. But unfortunately, his attempts to help about sent me over the edge. I simply asked him to go to the other room. But in the silence that followed, the weight of his words hung heavy with conviction. He was right, of course. I did need his help and I needed to breathe deeply.

My sweet boy needed me to be patient and regulated and to meet his physical needs. But instead I was impatient and frustrated. Ouch.

As I stood in the living room, my wonky lettered, non-crafter St. Patrick’s Day craft caught my eye.

That was exactly who and what I needed. Jesus. To be with me. To go before me. To do a work in me so that my family sees and hears and thinks of Jesus when I interact with them.

I felt certain just hours before that I would need the reminder because we would be needy from sickness and exhaustion. But even when the morning dawned more hopeful than I expected, I still fell short and failed to love my nearest neighbors well.

Our bad days are not a fluke; they are the norm. It is our moments of good that are few and far between. But it’s all too easy to justify a bad attitude or impatience with a quick shift of the blame.

This week I am carrying this prayer with me, holding it in my heart as my own as new mercies arrive with each dawn. In need and in abundance, frustration and joy, sickness and health, we need Jesus.

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.

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