Last week I had one of those days—the one where mid-way through you wonder where things went terribly awry and wish you could crawl back into hibernation and wake up and start again. The one where everything you touch seems to rear back and slap you in the face.

Somewhere between flat tires and four hours trying unsuccessfully to find a place that will accept River’s passport application, I went from simply grateful for being alive to shouting a string of profanities trying to unzip my jacket, to crying in a post office, to walking away from two tantrum-throwing boys so I could punch the carpet. My fifteen minute quiet time, attempted with a baby in my lap and a three year old running circles around me, could not have prepared me for the day I had.

 I have to give credit where credit is due though. Matt fixed the flat tire with zero complaints, drove us from city to city after receiving repeated faulty information about who on this planet actually issues passports, pulled into a Braums drive-through without saying a word and ordered me a milkshake (because he knew exactly what I needed in that moment). And between squeezing in a half a day’s missed work in a solitary hour and loading up for a late night gig, took River and began to pray over me. 

When all I could think about was how badly I needed a bubble bath or a night to myself, he was holding the pieces together. As he prayed, with the fourteenth episode of Word Party playing in the background, I remembered something he said in a sermon he preached last November…

As convinced as I was otherwise, I did not need more “me time” or a glass of white wine and entire chocolate cake to get through the evening. I needed Jesus. I needed grace. I needed the assurance that whatever headache and heartache I came face to face with did not place any distance between me and my Creator. And no string of profanities or devilish potholes in the road could relinquish me from His protection, no matter how vulnerable and under attack I felt. 

It’s not through self indulgence that we are made more like Christ, but through more time in His presence.

When I first heard that sermon, I wasn’t thinking about a moment where I would be completely and utterly without the option of withdrawing. It seems obvious to me that when given the glorious chance to treat yourself, you take it. But what about those times when we don’t have that luxury? What does that mean for those of us who who don’t have the hours or minutes or means to retreat?

Two young kids fully reliant on me to love them and meet their needs while my husband worked meant that what I felt like I so desperately needed (time to myself to blow off steam) was off the table. It meant Jesus HAD to be enough. Enough for me not to lose it on my kids. Enough for me to power through the rest of the day thinking about someone other than myself. And as I sat there in my dark bedroom, both boys finally asleep at 10 o clock, I was able to say with certainty that Jesus was and is enough. And as amazing as those opportunities to completely retreat to our “me bubbles” are, it’s not through self indulgence that we are made more like Christ, but through more time in His presence.

So I go to sleep and wake up and try again. I do my best to learn from my mistakes, extend the grace that has freely been offered, take a deep breath and walk forward expectantly and confidently. Yes, that day sucked. Yes, I reached the end of my rope more than once. But I woke up. We all did. And the endless string of annoyances I faced were nothing compared to what some people woke up to today. So how could I possibly go to bed as anything other than grateful? Grateful for grace, for a husband who points me to Christ, for two boys who give me more to live for than myself, and for Jesus. Who is forever enough.