I used to freak out before company came. It was exhausting. I would race around trying to do crazy things like clean my dining room chairs (which are upholstered hand-me-downs...and not extremely practical with so many little kids.) This was in addition to getting all laundry put away and dishes done. I always seemed to notice my bathroom mirrors were splattered with toothpaste and my windows were caked with boogery smears about ten minutes before guests arrived. There was no rest for me about 24 hours BCA (before company arrived). The more I cleaned, the more I panicked. I kept finding more to do. My children were stressed by me flying around from job to job and coming unglued when they asked me for help with the hundred usual things (like opening the lid to their favorite water cup that was empty AGAIN). I yelled at them because I was stressed by the thought of anyone realizing how I really lived (oh, the crumbs and the toys that seemed to multiply like tribbles!). It wasn't pretty. I asked Mary yesterday if she remembers having people over very much when she was little. Other than a couple of campfires (which was not my jurisdiction since they were outside), she couldn't recall any. That's because they were virtually non-existent.
This last weekend, I told my hubby how much I enjoyed having people over. I used to hate it. He asked me why I didn't like it before. I told him that it was different "before I knew that Jesus loved me even with messy house." Once I was sure He always loved me, I could remind myself of that each time I invited someone over and smile at the thought of people seeing my house with the filthy chair cushions (be forewarned that if you dare pat one while visiting, there may be a mushroom cloud above them like a bomb went off). Some of you may be rolling your eyes at how uptight I was, but there are some of you out there who know exactly what I went through. I adore those of you who are so free spirited that you can answer your door to even the pope in your pajamas. That's not me in my natural state.
I've often been fascinated with the biblical story of Martha and Mary. I've learned that if a story is recorded in the Bible, it is important. This story speaks dirrectly to my BCA panic. I imagine Martha would've never answered the door in her pj's, or given a second thought to what appetizers to set out...Martha Stewart has nothing on this Martha.
If you're not familiar with the story, then have a read in Luke 10:38-42 (the Message): "As they continued their travel, Jesus entered a village. A woman by the name of Martha welcomed him and made him feel quite at home. She had a sister, Mary, who sat before the Master, hanging on every word he said. But Martha was pulled away by all she had to do in the kitchen. Later, she stepped in, interrupting them. 'Master, don’t you care that my sister has abandoned the kitchen to me? Tell her to lend me a hand.'
The Master said, 'Martha, dear Martha, you’re fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it—it’s the main course, and won’t be taken from her.'"
I still need reminders of what is really important. It all boils down to this: Jesus loved people, and He is my role model. That's really what is important: Loving Jesus, and loving people. Having a listening ear is far better than a crumb free floor. This week, we hosted two guests for playdates..something I would've never dreamed of when my Mary was little. I took in a deep breath when the keyboard on the floor was moved revealing several months worth of dirt, Christmas tree needles and dust bunnies. I smiled and pushed the toy back to its original position and hummed "Jesus Loves Me" under my breath. The next day the same mom smiled and greeted me at Awana with a "Hello, friend!" I think she had more memories of our time than my dirt (especially after her daughter accidentally picked a rotten duck egg that exploded on her clothes).
Easter is a time for group gatherings, and some of you may be going through the no rest BCA freak-out. Take deep breath. Hum that little tune, and know that He truly loves you even with a big mess on your counter. This is our favorite Easter tradition: making Resurrection Cookies. We use chocolate chips instead of nuts (and make sure you really grease the cookie sheets well, so the "tombs" release).
What's you favorite tradition for Easter?
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