At 7 am and approaching the bottom of our stairwell, my eyes landed on something that makes my messy life even messier, a soppy hair ball the size of my index finger.  The wet gray mass looked like it had its own tail and for a second, I thought Mr. Kitty hacked something up he had caught in the yard…nope just a tangling of licked off hair and some stomach contents.

Its 1:00 p.m. and though the thing that looked like my male cat birthed a kitten out of his mouth has been flushed down the toilet for the last six hours, it’s stain remains.

I am butt-end of the bread tired.  At least that’s what I posted on my facebook status last night.  What I am really saying is that, I don’t think I would be any good for anything or anyone right about now.  The butts always get thrown out.  No one wants the butt.  No one wants mouthful after mouthful of dried out crust taste with their sandwich.

So I’m crusty…

and my house is messier than I would like,

and after I saw the hairball, I saw this;

image

because my kid can’t seem to either throw out what he isn’t going to eat, or at least put it in one of the many plastic containers I spent precious minutes washing yesterday after cleaning out fuzzy leftovers from the fridge.  No, to him the fridge shelf will suffice as a plate in case someone else wants it…

really?

There is a kind of tired beyond all tired’s.  You know the one…the one that you can’t get three words of a sentence out without your voice sounding like its riding a roller coaster and your eyes are fighting that burn as the internal dam relentlessly swells right ready to bust its way out.

Or the tired that snaps at my husband right before worship because sin escapes from my heart and lets itself out the mouth so it can trample down the soul next to me

the one who’s always next to me.

The one who’s used to the bottom’s of these feet words. Yeah, he knows their stinky smell…

There is a tired that leaves this

image image

for tomorrow because today I was told to rest, by the one who let my words run mad all over him and still reached for my hand to lead me into worship.

But I don’t like resting in the mess.  It makes me unsettled.  It makes me a doer.  It makes me anxious.  It makes me long to have the perfect magazine home, as if once I get everything cleaned up and in order I can finally rest.

And Jesus reminds me, as long as you are on this earth, this fallen sin-stained earth, you will be in the middle of a mess, either my own, or someone else’s, and if I want to really live like Him, I’ll walk into the temporary physical mess, but my eyes won’t focus on what moth and rust destroy, no, my eyes will fetch themselves a soul gaze and catch a glimpse of glory and eternity.

So I’m tired because I have been preparing for our upcoming women’s retreat.  Tapping keys that make words that form sentences that indent paragraphs about the One who came to fix our mess.

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The One who took the whole world’s mess of sin and bore it heavy, flesh ripped open, oozing blood, running down splintered wood, beaten beyond recognition while His mama watched, and His friends hearts split in two from the silent weight of Holy wrapped in skin hanging off the edge of heaven, dangling above hell.  The spit of those who seethed with hatred, hung off his face, as they drank and laughed and mocked this humble King.  This One, He found Himself in a cosmic mess.

I can complain about my mess and that I’m too tired to clean it up or I can rest knowing that Jesus walked into the biggest mess of world history and washed it all red in blood and scrubbed it raw in mercy so we didn’t have to try and clean everything up on our own.  He did, and He does.

Sure, we still have to care for our families and care well for them.  But when we can’t see eternities trail through scattered laundry, junk mail, school papers, wrappers, dishes, empty toilet paper rolls, fuzzy leftovers, splattered mirrors, scummy showers and tubs, overflowing garbages and stained floors, we will just be a barely limp along tired. But when we trade in our just plain “tired” for “gloriously tired,” then we will know His power has gone out from us leading the way. And though the sidelines may stay cluttered, the path marked eternity remains clear and the closer we get the smaller those piles appear.

Please watch the above video and be refreshed when you are poured out and empty and poor!

Join the conversation and tell me about your messy tired!

held, consumed, crazy in love with Jesus,

trish

2 thoughts on “gloriously tired

  1. “the silent weight of Holy wrapped in skin hanging off the edge of heaven, dangling above hell”
    Maybe it’s because I’ve been in Mark 15 this week, just walking to the cross with Him again, or maybe it’s because this is pure poetry, but the phrase stopped me in my tracks. I wrote it in my journal. Thank you for taking time to share your gift with the rest of us.

    Like

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