May is upon us.  It’s here, breathing down the necks of all moms whose kids are in the final throes of the end of school.  Paperwork piles up on our desks.  End-of-year teacher gifts haunt us in our waking hours and the treats we forgot to take up to school for the hundredth very special end-of-school-year-party haunt us in our dreams.  And in the midst of all the mayhem, playoff games, recitals, and final exams, we are expected to still have routine things like dinner on the table every night and groceries in the fridge.  True confession: tonight, I am making tacos for the third time in seven days.  My family just might refuse to eat them, but I don’t care.  At least there is some sort of resemblance to food on the table.  Any and all margin for creativity in my brain exited the building when the month of May entered.  

May is tough.  It’s fun, sort of, but it feels more like jumping blindfolded off of a cliff rather than finishing the end of a long school year race.

And there’s just no way to do this part of the year perfectly.  I am learning this.  I am learning this when my daughter’s research paper was typed and ready to be turned in to her teacher (the paper I spent all weekend helping her type), and she forgot to turn it in.  And we got points taken off.  Wait, did I just say “we”?  I mean she.  Sort of.

I am learning this when my daughter gave her big history presentation, and I left the written portion of her project on her clipboard at home.  And I got a text from her teacher.  A very kind text, but still.

I am learning this when there isn’t turkey for lunch boxes in the deli drawer and there is literally nothing to pack in their lunch boxes.  Not even an old, expired can of spaghetti-o’s.  I am learning this when I show up to a field trip in sweats and everyone else is in big people clothes with makeup on.  I am learning this when I am late on writing deadlines, my inbox is overflowing with emails, and I feel like I can’t manage to stay on top of even simple tasks.

And when life becomes full to the point of overflowing, my tendency is to become taught, my nerves stretched thin, and all of a sudden I snap, pop, or break at the slightest provocation.  Or, really, what I’m learning, is I snap at the slightest hint of failure.  Failure at staying on top of my kids’ school schedules, failure at staying tuned in to my husband’s needs, failure at fitting in to a certain group of moms that have achieved “perfection,” whatever that means.

But last week, a really wise person told me something that is helping me handle the imperfections of May with a little more stability.  She said: “What matters is not the fact that you are broken or have failed.  We are all broken, and we have all failed.  What matters is the thought that immediately follows your failure.  You need to learn to follow your brokenness with this statement: ‘Yes, I’m broken and far more of a failure than I ever dared to realize…BUT…praise God, my value and worth, my significance and beauty, is not tied to my failings but to the perfect, whole, completing love of Christ.'”

Or…”Yes, I blew it today and forgot many things…BUT…I rest in the hands of One who never will forget me.”

Or…”Yes, my glory is fading and life is imperfect…BUT…God’s glory is secure and heals my past, gives grace to my present, and ties my future to His perfect home.”

I’m learning, in my brokenness, to give less importance to my failures and more value to the thought that immediately follows my failures.  Are my thoughts full of shame and condemnation, and a subtle, or not so subtle, beating up of self and others around me?  Or are my thoughts full of the grace and redemption that is promised to unravel all of my failures and renew every single one?

Paying attention to my thoughts and aligning them with the truth of God’s Word rather than the hopelessness that whispers in my heart is helping May be a little bit more manageable.  Not perfect.  Not flawless.  But manageable.  And I’m learning to think in all of my failings, there is One who is perfect who holds me together and follows up my brokenness with His perfect, redeeming love.

 

“For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh, for the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh, but divinely powerful for the destruction of fortresses. We are destroying speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God, and we are taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ.”  2 Corinthians 10:3-5