A confession

It’s very easy to give in to the idea that the perceived problems in my life are, in fact, real problems. What they really are, in my first-world, comfortable middle class life, are annoyances. You know the ones, the dog poops on the rug or the husband travels too much or we do battle with the kids over dinner each night. They are something to talk about over lunch with a girlfriend.

What we don’t always talk about are the down and dirty, nitty gritty bits of life. The stuff that real problems are made of, like pride or jealousy. We don’t reveal that hidden in the dark corners of our hearts, we let judgement hold court and gossip feed our souls.We don’t tell each other that our acts of service are really just self serving, or that we nearly choke on the harsh words that trip and fall so easily from our tongues.

We hide that we are all Adam. We are crumbling cathedrals, grasping for grace as though it would slip through our fissures and cracks.

If we were to go to lunch today, I would tell you this; my dog poops on the rug, and too often I speak sharply to my kids. I like it best when my needs come first. I think my husband travels too much, and I am jealous of other’s success. And in this world of virtual realities, where everything seems all beauty and no mess, I am a crumbling cathedral, one that is being rebuilt daily by God’s grace.

Some of the cracks remain, but I hope that the dark and broken places would be where the light of Christ most clearly shines through.