Unchanging Love

One afternoon several months ago I went out to shop for some new jeans all by myself. David kept the kids for hours while I shopped without my usual extra appendages that like to crawl underneath dressing room doors and hide in clothes racks. (And sometimes put on bracelets or scarves without my noticing until we are three stores away.) Of course, I enjoyed this solo shopping time immensely.

When I arrived home, I found myself stepping over and under and around countless strings of yarn that had been wrapped around everything in my living room. "It's a spider web!" the boys told me excitedly. I laughed and headed toward the bedroom to put away the fruits of my shopping excursion. David, meanwhile, heard what the boys said and hurried in from the garage to tell me that he had told the boys to take the spider web down. (Apparently, there was a misunderstanding wherein David told them to take it down so mommy wouldn't trip over it, but the boys thought that moving it away from the front door would accomplish the stated purpose.)

I assured David that I didn't mind the new spider web decor, and he replied, "Oh. I wasn't sure whether it would be Dr. Jekyll or Mrs. Hyde who came home, and I was worried you'd be upset about the mess."

Wow. Talk about being slapped in face by your own reality. Was I really that bad?

Sadly, yes. Reflecting back, it was far too common for me to come home from my alone time and fuss and nag about what the house looked like when I came home rather than just being thankful for the break I'd just received and the fun my children and their father (clearly) had while I was gone.

I found myself thinking of that incident in church this morning when we sang a song that referred to God as unchanging. Of course, I already knew that about God. But thinking about it this morning in light of my own utter unpredictability was a comfort to my soul.

My children do not always know which mommy they're going to get . . . the laid-back version who patiently helps them clean up spilled oatmeal or the tightly wound coil version who springs loose in all her fury about how many times they've spilled their oatmeal this week.

I'm unpredictable. I do not always respond in the same way. Sometimes I freak out over a spider-web living room; other times I laugh and enjoy the creativity of my kids.

Imagine how much nicer it would be if they knew my response would ALWAYS be the same. If they knew that no matter what, my tone, expression, and words would convey total love and acceptance (and forgiveness when necessary).

I don't have to imagine what it's like to have a God like that. He is unchanging, and I am beyond thankful that I can at least point my children to a Heavenly Father who offers trait this even though I fall so utterly short.