Practicing what we Preach: Grace

It was a typical night.

Baby girl and I had completed the day, successfully avoiding major tear-filled meltdowns (from either one of us.)

Hubs came home after his normal 12+ hours of doing army-ish things. Supper was consumed. And then the debate began.

We were both tired from the day (ok, life in general) and we started negotiating on who would give Tiny Human a bath. She was sticky all over and had somehow managed to get smashed blueberry in her hair– and stuck on her forehead.

We recently changed her nightly routine from supper, play, bath, bedtime to supper, bath, play, bedtime. It seemed to be working and I am a huge proponent of “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

But Brandon agreed to give her a bath *if* he could do it right before bedtime.

Exhausted, I agreed. Anything to keep the peace, right?

Well.

Our kid is a pretty not-awesome sleeper. The slightest disruption will throw her off, so I usually try to protect her schedule to make life easier for all parties involved. I was a bit skeptical about making any modifications to her schedule that weren’t required, but whatever. I was able to remain parked on the couch in my happy place. At that point, hubs could have offered to bathe her in the front yard in the rain and I might just have agreed.

So the time comes for bath time/bedtime. And it does not go well. Because Tiny Human gets out of the tub and is ready to play instead of sleep.

Hubs tries to put her down and… Well, did I mention our kid is a cry-puker?

You can guess what happens next.

After a few attempts, he calls in back-up. And by back-up, I mean me.

At this point, I am angry. I speak words I shouldn’t to my husband who tries so hard to crack the code that is this 22 pound ball of eternal determination. I clean up the small amount (thank you Lord, that it wasn’t more) of vomit, bust out my Supreme Mom skills and finally get the kid to bed.

And then, I come back downstairs… Swinging. Ready to chew my Beloved up one side and down the other.

Because it was HIS fault, right?

Yeah, maybe not so much.

After a lengthy, ahem, discussion, the word GRACE pops into my head.

Repeatedly.

Then I receive a not-so-awesome convicting whisper from the Lord: “Hey, my feisty daughter. Yeah, remember all that stuff you say about grace? Remember that I have given you grace and I expect you to do the same to others. ESPECIALLY those closest to you. Like him. You know, that man I hand-picked for you love on earth. You best start practicing what you preach.”

And that, my friend, is how these blogs come about. I screw up (again), learn something profound and am like, “Well dang. First I should do what God is telling me to do and then share it with the world. Maybe someone else can benefit from it.”

So there you go. As Christians, we talk about grace this and grace that and we receive God’s grace… But sometimes we kinda sorta forget to pass it on and give others grace too.

Like that studly blonde-haired-blue-eyed-baby-daddy of mine.

Grace. It is a powerful word but even more powerful action.

God supplies our grace and it never runs out. He even gives us Ever-Changing Grace for the different scenarios we encounter.

I am working on this grace-giving practice extensively. After I simmered down and decided to give grace instead of grief, we were able to resolve our conflict more peacefully than ever before.

Huh. I guess this grace thing really DOES work.

In what areas of your life do you need to change grief-giving to grace giving? Is there a specific person you need to extend more grace to? What does that look like? I encourage you to leave a comment.

Practicing what we preach is a life-long process. Let’s keep pressing forward with an intentional commitment to give less grief and more grace. #Amen

Growing in Grace,