“Come” is the most recent command my son is learning.  With four dogs in the house, he’s grown accustomed to hearing it regularly.   He’s more liberal in using the command than obeying it.  Of course, the dogs don’t understand him but it doesn’t minimize his urgency.

The beauty is when I don’t demand that he draw near is exactly when I’ll find him cuddling up next to me as I am reading.  Throughout the day he’ll randomly wraps his little arms around my neck or grab a finger to reassure that I’m here and not going anywhere.  These fleeting moments in my day render me speechless.

Jesus says in Matthew 11:28, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”  What I love most about the cuddles with my son is that they’re unprompted.  I’m in his presence and he’ll just initiate the hug, the finger grab, the face hold.

Why then is it so hard for me to take the same unabashed approach with My Father?  He is always present.  He desires to give me the rest that I so long for though seem to search for everywhere else.

As my son reaches for me today, may I be reminded to seek comfort and peace from My Father.

Amen.

In 2010, I moved to a new country, one with the highest murder rate per capita in the world.  Not exactly my vision of where I would raise a family one day.

Years later, I began teaching at a local high school.  Impacted by the increasing violence, I wanted to challenge my students to be part of the solution.  So I polled my twelfth graders, “How many of you would help a victim on the street?”  Less than 4 students out of 100 said they might help.  If the victim was a family member, the poll results flip-flopped.

It was much easier for me to pose the question than to answer it.  I didn’t want to admit that it’s more comfortable to be a hermit than a hero.  And now, as a parent, I must face my lack of courage more honestly.  I can no longer do one thing and say another.  I have a real and daily audience now.  And I want to teach him to be courageous.

In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus asks, “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”  The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”  Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.” (Luke 10:36-37)

Will you?

As the youngest of six, I grew up hearing stories often enough that it was hard to remember which ones I wasn’t even around for.  One of which was when my mom was walking my brother home from school with a classmate and his mom.  My brother, bounding in the door first, immediately rushed back out yelling, “We’ve been robbed!”  She tried to ignore his call for alarm but there was no way to minimize the concerns of the others without proof.

To my mom’s chagrin, she ushered them into the kitchen, the scene of the crime as she left it just thirty minutes prior.  Open cupboards, overflowing drawers, half-prepped ingredients, dirty dishes in the sink and pots and pans were all part of the debris.

Today was that day.  Most days, I do my best to maintain order.  Well, at least the parts that will be visible, right?  I often try to do the same thing around people, present my best side.

Both are exhausting…the mess and the order.  Which is why it’s freeing to just say, “This is today.  Yes, it’s been nuts.  And no, I have not been robbed.”

Another dirty diaper.  Another treasure hunt of “Where did one of the dogs pee?”. Another leak in the roof.  Another trip to the store, I forgot something.  Some days it feels like I get my 10,000 steps just trying to keep up.  How is it that the day can feel so long and still get away from you?

The barrage of social media with so-and-so’s recent workout, favorite restaurant, best recipe, latest vacation, newest purchase, current home renovation or…well, the list is endless, doesn’t help.

It’s a lot harder to celebrate the mundane.  Most of my days are spent either at the house or in the car.  Of course, no day is the same, but it can certainly feel like it after awhile.  Some days I feel like I’m racking my brain for how to mix it up.

It’s easy to play the self-pity card–to blame the husband who is away traveling as you’re cleaning up another dog mess or the long line of traffic when you’re already running late but it doesn’t change anything.

The truth is when we blame, we’re usually avoiding something much deeper.  Is it really my husband’s fault that the dogs peed again?  Why then do I default to blame most of the time when I’m tired, disappointed or just, well, bored?

Mercy is defined as “compassion or forgiveness shown towards someone whom it is within one’s power to punish or harm.”  Perhaps I can start today showing a little more mercy to myself.  We can be our own worst judge.  I can also extend mercy to my fellow driver by allowing him to merge or to my husband with a welcome home hug.  It is in these smallest of things that we are human.