grace in inappropriate worship

I was mad. I was sick. I was tired. The kids constant fighting, arguing, anger, and fears were draining me and I felt left with an empty shell of a life.

It was two hours before our house was going to be swallowed up in a slew of people coming over for Bible study, and chaos shrouded the place. I was rushing around trying to clean up toys, mop sticky floors, and fix dinner all at the same time. Toby was out of town and I desperately needed the boys to drop their attitudes and help me. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen.

We were in the middle of a new parenting technique suggested by their therapist; one in which the boys are given options for choosing how and when to participate. It was killing me.

So there I was, moving through the house at the speed of light, while they sat on the couch, watching cartoons, and playing idly with defiant eyes boring holes through my head. I was furious.

Finally, I decided that if I couldn’t get them to help me, the least I could do was make their life miserable. After all, that is a parent’s job isn’t it?

So, I revved the vacuum into a roar and headed over to where they were perched. Back and forth, I flew over the rug at their feet, careful not to leave a strand of fiber unturned. Forward and sideways, up and down I cleaned, making certain that I consistently stood in between the boys and their movie, and praying the vacuum was drowning out the sound.

They just leaned to the left, swayed to the right, and motioned for me to keep the noise down.

I was livid.

So I kicked it up a notch.

I began to sing.

Loud.

Obnoxious.

Likely off-key.

And since it was going to be Bible study time, soon, I decided to sing worship songs.

“Hallelujah!!”

There I was, vacuuming with the fury of a hurricane, bent on sending already angry boys to the point of no return: bellowing, screaming out “Your Love Never Fails!”

“What’s wrong with you?” they asked. “Why are you singing like that?”

“I’m fine, sweeties,” I replied, my voice dripping with venom. “I’m just singing to my God.”

Their brows furrowed, they looked at me as though they’d just witnessed an insane act, and returned their focus back to the screen.

Rejection and fury surged within me and my melody became more of a growlish screech as I continued “singing”. “YOUR LOVE NEVER FAILS!!!”

That’s when I broke.

Quickly, I tucked into the kitchen and crumbled as God did what he always promises to do; he showed up with strength, and wisdom, and love, and thankfully, with grace.

To use a great quote from a ridiculously bad movie, I’m constantly blown away by His ability to show up. Time after time, I set myself up for extraordinary failure, and God sweeps into my life, completely ignoring my inept attempts at self-regulation.

Within moments my heart was repaired and my hope restored. I began worshipping again, this time with honest, humbled love.

Of course, the boys walked in to see me standing in the kitchen, crying, singing and smiling this time.

“_____. She really is crazy.” They rolled their eyes and walked out.

This time I didn’t care. I just breathed in God’s love and sighed, knowing that I wasn’t alone.

I’m so blessed to have a God that hears me when I seek him; a God who responds every time I call. Even at times when all I can do is offer up inappropriate worship.