When You Have Nothing To Offer
Things have been quiet here in my corner. Some of you may already know we are joyfully expecting twins at the end of this year. But with that gift came a bout of crippling morning sickness. At first I tried to put my head down and grit through it, but eventually I was forced to concede to my bed. There were even a few trips to the hospital for dehydration. It was a trying first trimester.
In that time, I watched as each of my “backups” (the things I knew deep down didn’t make me good before God, but gave me a boost of confidence before him anyways) were stripped away. My clean home became messy and disorganized, and laundry piled higher than it ever has. My robust, colourful meals became small and bland. My productivity nose-dived to a zero as I laid in bed either sleeping or watching Netflix. My mothering was a little more than a kiss before bed. My writing was nonexistent. My daily Bible reading flickered away.
In those moments of trying to string words together into cohesive prayers, I came before God naked. I had nothing to show. I felt like a peasant in rags before the high king in his royal robes. Who am I Lord, to stand before you? I have nothing to give.
I’m realizing it’s easy to sing along in the car, “Jesus is my only hope,” and to proclaim, “Amen!” with a teacher who reminds us that Jesus is all we need before our holy God. It’s another when Jesus is actually all you have left.
It was in those feeble prayers that I was reminded that Jesus is truly all I need before my Holy Father. None of my good works could carry me to his throne or make me presentable in his presence. Only Christ’s righteousness brought me there. While I knew this in my mind, it humbled my heart to truly feel it.
As I was humbled before God, I was also humbled before my family—I will never be everything they need. No matter how many scraped knees I can kiss, how many meals I can cook, how many Bible stories I can read, how many messes I can clean, how many life lessons I can teach, how many hugs and words of comfort I can give, how much laundry I can wash and fold, I will never be enough to sustain my family. As much as I desire to fix everything and protect my family from every possible trial, I am only human and I was never formed to do so.
They need grandmas and grandpas and friends who are like family, along with their spiritual brothers and sisters from our church family. Countless meals were brought to our table by other people, our floors were swept by people who do not live here, dishes were washed by people who didn’t dirty them, our laundry was cleaned and folded by people who did not own it, many family members outside our household watched, fed, and played with my son, texts were sent asking how we were doing, and prayers were made by more people than I probably realize. They need their blood family and the family of God to help them. But most of all they need their Saviour to be their Solid Rock, because I am about as sturdy as a sandcastle.
As I’m getting back to a routine of sorts, I hope that this humility will stay with me—a humble reminder that I am not God but each member of my family will find true hope and rest in him alone. I hope to go about my daily tasks with this humble and grateful reminder on my heart.
