I’m reaching in the coat closet, trying to snap shut the camera bag, when I smack my forehead right into the door jam.
I smack my head right where my scar is on my left temple, the blemish from my near-fatal skating accident.
My head throbs.
It always does smart a little harder if I bump up against my scar.
But what do you do when your head aches from life?
That’s what I really want to know.
It’s Passion week and I’ve been thinking a lot about Jesus and theology as a simple stay-at-home girl and what it means to celebrate The Resurrection.
It’s a whole lot of crazy fun, and me breathing deep and slow when I have to remind my preschoolers not to run ahead for the five.hundredth.time. I wonder a few times why I thought I could handle an 8-month-old in the stroller, an adventurous four-year-old and an inquisitive three-year-old single-handedly.
We make quite the scene in the bathroom cheering for the boy who is potty-training and reprimanding the other boy flinging open the stall door and then we gallavant from one animal to the next laughing and scolding and talking.
And it’s all worth it for the wonder.
We got back from the zoo, wind-blown and sunned and entirely exhausted and I smacked my head so hard it throbbed all evening, the same evening the left sink started backing up every time I tried to drain the right side of the sink.
The whole kitchen stinking and the drain spewing particles of who-knows-what – the same sink my husband redid all the plumbing for only six months ago.
And the baby tired of a long day with restless naps, so he whined.
My head throbbed.
The sink threw up.
Suddenly it was ten o’clock and my rigid body climbed between sheets, tense nerves and pounding headache.
I’m all irritation. Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t move.
I’m all irritation and I’m crying.
I’m crying because tomorrow is Good Friday and I know exactly what I need.
I’m a ball of nerves and frustration and I know it’s just a sink but I’m kind of mad at God.
At the same time as knowing that God is exactly what I need.
What we all – the broken, irritable, frustrated, imperfect people – need.
We all need to taste His broken body to know His redemption, because Good Friday is meaningless without Easter Sunday and Easter Sunday wouldn’t exist without Good Friday.
I’m frustrated most because I don’t know how to bring all this earthly mess to God.
It’s the wonder of a child that makes it clear to me.
I stare long at the picture of my son on his first carousel ride, mouth wide open and eyes all sparkling. Sheer delight.
We writhe through frustrations and wrestle with the complexities of our beautiful, infuriating lives – there’s so much pain in the world and so much wrong with this age and the ugliness of our own humanity – and we debate theology and argue over varying interpretations of Scripture, and there I am staring long at the picture of my son on his first carousel ride.
And Jesus said?
It’s the child wonder that gets me and brings me to this fresh knowing.
With all our grown-up knowledge and our busy adult lives and our ever-expanding network of relationships, we’re caught-up in our mature complexities starving for God.
And the only way forward, is to become like a child.
I stare at the picture of my son, wide with wonder, and I ask God for the foresight of a child.
Because children see things for how they are and we can only enter the kingdom of heaven when we become like a child.
So our sinks throw-up junk and we question if we need to replace all the plumbing in our house, and His body suffers physical afflictions from headaches to parasites in our bloodstream to cancer, and we struggle to find purpose in the mundane of our day-to-day, and the child of God kneels and waits in expectation, because the child of God sees and knows that redemption is now.
We believe and we behold the wonder.
All things becoming new in Christ.
Because He lives.