Where He Meets Me

I need Jesus today. I mean, I need him every day, but I *know* and am aware that I need Him today. I love it that He meets me where I am.

This was my Facebook status yesterday morning.

And, there's a story behind it that I want to share with you.

When I wrote it, I was in the midst of one of *those* mornings.

My children - up since the wee morning hours - were energy personified. And, thanks to a nasty wind storm that came through our area during the night, I was exhausted from a lack of sleep.

And, our house was a mess. Because I struggle with, among other things, chronic household laziness and not only did I not feel like cleaning up a single thing the night before, I didn't clean up a single thing the night before.

And, while this is a struggle with which I wrestle daily with seemingly little progress, it also carries with it the burden of guilt. It just does.

Hyperactive children + exhausted, weary Momma + messy house = a recipe for needin' some Jesus. It would have made sense to reach out to Him, right?

But, I decided to clean up instead. Because if I was going to mother hyperactive children in my exhausted, guilt-laden state, I was going to do it without Lego imprints on the bottoms of my feet.

I walked into our dining room and realized that my (already prone to hyperactivity) children had gotten into and devoured my bag of Hershey's Kisses. The bag was crumpled on the table, ripped down the center, and empty. With little foil bits strewn about it.

It was my fault. I, in my laziness, didn't clean up the night before, remember?

So, I hastily grabbed the empty, ripped open bag and tucked it under my arm, swept up the little foil bits strung about with the palms of my hands, and huffed and puffed my way to the kitchen trash can.

And, that's where Jesus met me.

Standing over my kitchen trash can.

Weary.

Guilt-laden.

Tired.

I slowly untucked my empty little bag of daily, sanity-giving joy from under my arm, and peered down into the bag and saw what I had felt pressing against my side while I hostilely walked to the kitchen.

It might as well have spoken audibly because I heard Jesus speaking to me through that tiny little piece of chocolate.

I am here. I will meet you where you are.

And, if that weren't enough for my weary soul that needed to know, really know, of Jesus' presence yesterday - I walked over to my kitchen sink, and while I closed my eyes, savoring that little piece of hope, that Small Voice within me spoke to my fear and guilt and shortcomings:

Remember, I am.

You don't have to be.