On Earth as it is in Heaven | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: On Earth as it is in Heaven | Previous Challenge Entry
By Regina Rupert
03/18/09
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Our Father, is this the kingdom? It seems rather small, built as it is of the four walls of our house, walls that close in on me after one too many days of caring nonstop for a toddler and a preschooler. I don’t mean any disrespect, but I’d think there would be a whole lot more white robes and a whole lot less dirty laundry. There should be songs of praise, but mostly what I hear is squabbling. “Hallowed be thy name” was never so earnest a prayer: be honored, Lord, in the minds and mouths of my children—oh yes, and mine, too.

I wish I could ask with as much zeal for your will be done. The problem with your will is that it almost always means self-sacrifice. As in, wipe the kitchen floor again—with a willing heart. Administer discipline for the 49th time today—lovingly. Put aside what I want to do in order to pick up toys, cook food, wash dishes, play hide-and-seek, fill sippy cups, give hugs, put on band-aids, break up fights, read books, tell Bible stories, change diapers, pay the bills, call the mother-in-law. (Would an email count so I don’t have to talk to her?) Maybe I should start by praying, “God, help me to want your will to be done. Then help me to do it.”

Give us this day our mac and cheese, though I’d certainly take filet mignon with roasted red potatoes and fresh steamed asparagus, too, especially if someone else made it. And since I’m asking for miracles, could you please help the kids eat everything on their plates? Without complaining?

Forgive me my trespasses (I’m sure I have some) as I forgive my husband for not taking out the trash, forgetting my birthday, leaving his clothes on the floor, and never cleaning anything. Oh yes, and for snapping at me when all I did was. . .uh. . .wait. Let me rephrase. Forgive me for making mean-spirited comments to my husband. And for being impatient when my four-year-old refuses to wear a shirt on a winter morning when we have to leave in 5 minutes. And for shouting when my two-year-old has written in ink on the only nice piece of furniture we own. And for feeling completely irritated when a little voice repeatedly bellows from another room, “Mooooooooohhhhhhmmm!” because that’s all he can think of to yell. In the presence of your many and gracious blessings, why am I annoyed at such petty things? I’m sorry. Please lead me not into temptation (especially if it involves chocolate) because as you can see, I’m not very good at resisting it. Deliver me from the evil that springs up in my heart so easily. And while you’re at it, maybe from rude neighbors, too.

Thank you for listening—and caring. And loving even me, the frazzled mommy in sweatpants and a bad haircut. You are the king of my heart and my home. Which means that, after all, this place is your kingdom. Your power gives me strength to serve when all I want to do is sleep. Your glory shines in each small choice I make to surrender to your Spirit. I am yours. Forever. And that’s good because some days really do seem to last that long. Amen.

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