We left 20 minutes late for our 40-minute commute to school this morning. It was raining hard and water pooled on the roadway. Welcome to Monday. I hate being late. I mean it, I really hate being late. Especially to school where I knew I would be met by the haughty eyes of those parents who are never late and have no grace for those of us who sometimes struggle with timeliness.
I could feel the tension clawing at my shoulders as we waited in traffic a mile from home. I silently begged God to keep my frustrations from spilling over into my children's hearts—even though I am not the one who dawdled, changed clothes three times and grumbled about the breakfast Mommy made.
As we inched forward, my stomach knotted around my oatmeal. Have I mentioned that I hate being late? It makes me feel inadequate faster than just about any of my other shortcomings. I prayed again, out loud this time, "Lord please help. You're our only hope for getting to school on time. Could you part the traffic ahead of us so we don't have to face the humiliation of going to the office for a tardy slip?"
I plugged in a worship CD—Selah's Press On—and sang along. Loudly. My darlings know this is a good sign. It means Mom has moved on from frustrated to trying to make the most of the situation.
I noticed the clock said 8:10; we were about five miles behind schedule. Not too bad, considering. As we approached the intersection that usually takes 10 minutes to traverse, I noticed there were very few vehicles, and as we approached, the light turned a lovely bright green. My hopes rose. "Hey, we might make it after all!" I said.
We made our final two turns and right over the school a marvelous sight materialized out of the gray drizzle, a giant rainbow proclaiming God's grace. I looked at the clock again—8:22—we were three minutes early. On time. On Monday. After a very late start. And under the banner of God's love.
I hope whatever you are doing today, you also experience God's grace and love.
Gratefully,
Beth