Grace Again

I am reading Brennan Manning's Ragamuffin Gospel. If you aren't familiar with it don't be surprised. I have heard of it only because I have an appreciation for Rich Mullins' music and he referred to himself as a Ragamuffin and he actually wrote the part of the book they call the "testimony", like a foreword but...well, a testimony. I have only started it, I found it while cleaning out part of the attic, someone gave it to one of my older daughters to read. It is already speaking to me though.
In the beginning he tells us who the book is "NOT" for which is kind of funny...basically the people it is not for would probably be somehow offended at the very title... "legalists", "fearless and tearless", "the complacent, hoisting over their shoulder a tote-bag of honors, diplomas and good works actually believing they have it made". I didn't find myself in any of those so I read on. Then I found myself...among the ones he did write it for "sorely burdened who are still shifting the heavy suitcase from one hand to the other" and the "inconsistent, unsteady disciples whose cheese is still falling off their cracker"...ah, yes, there I am. I have come just far enough to realize I know very little about this amazing grace our father pours out on us, not that I'm not daily bathed in it, I just still don't fully understand it.
Last night I totally lost it, yeah, my mind, my grip on grace, all of it.
For a moment I really didn't recognize myself. Or maybe it really WAS me! The girls were tucked away in their new, clean, princess suite we have all worked so hard to create for them and I heard a wailing coming from there. At first, I thought they were just playing, then when it didn't stop I realized Cheyenne was crying, not just crying but what my beloved likes to refer to as "bellering" (which I guess is his southern English for bellowing). He went up first and came right back out with a warning that the crying was ridiculous and had to stop...(or else, or else what? the girls know their daddy is not going to do anything mean, unfair or even remotely scary) of course the noise continued. Now, a good mom would have gone back up there with soothing tones asked the little punkin to please use her "quiet voice". Perhaps it was at this moment that I ceased to resemble anything like a good mom and turned into the stepmother in all the Disney movies. I asked Cheyenne what was wrong with her and she said she was too scared to sleep on the bottom bunk. Of course she was screaming because in fact she was NOT scared she was mad. Daddy had made her sleep in her own bed not the extra bed on the top. ???? These kids get crazy ideas. She chose her bed originally but has been allowed to sleep on the other one while the closet was being redone...her bed had been holding all the clothes! Instead of just asking if she could change to the top she concocted a drama to make us feel sorry for her so she could claim the top bunk. This just got to me. She knows that we want them all to feel safe and never scared. So the scared thing was just acting. When I asked her what she was scared of she couldn't say for a while, she just kept yelling. She finally said she was afraid of ghosts. I asked her if the ghost WERE in her room if she thought they would just be in the bottom bunks? I was of course not using my "quiet voice". Anyway, the rest is just pretty much me having my own version of a temper tantrum and Michael had to go back up there and I don't know what he told her but she finally quieted down and was almost asleep when I went back in and told her that I loved her and I never wanted to make her afraid...I don't know if she was fully aware of what I was saying but she turned over and gave me a pat as if to say, I was acting badly, you were acting badly...we belong together.
I went to bed not feeling much better about myself. I had been provoked to act like a six year old...or maybe even younger. I picked up the book, Ragamuffin Gospel. I read that God's grace is extended to all of us, not that we deserve it, surely he knows we don't but he chooses to give it. I am thankful for grace. I am thankful that he understands my weakness and loves me in spite of it. It gives me a reason to get back up, weak kneed and wobbling but thankful for the chance to do it all again. Maybe today I'll really "get it" and learn to give it out myself.