My girls and I sat around a small table as they dove into bowls of candy topped yogurt, chatting.  After awhile, my attention was drawn to a nearby television broadcasting a University of Tennessee basketball game.

“Mmmm…basketball,” I said.  “I haven’t been to a game in so long.  I forgot how much I like it.”

“I’m actually pretty good,” said my oldest.

“Well, you are tall like me, so be prepared for coaches to start seeking you out at some point.  When I was your age, I was so tall that everywhere I went people asked me the same question- Do you play basketball?  I wanted to say, ‘No.  I don’t play anything because my parents believe wearing shorts is a sin.’”

My children know this part of my childhood, but they always react with fresh incredulity.

“Wow…Mom…wow…that’s sad.” (As in lame, not grievous.)

“Yep,” I say.  “And I had to dress out everyday for P.E. in the 8th grade.  Everyone else was wearing shorts and t-shirts, but I was something special.  My parents bought me a pastel yellow sweat suit.  I was the biggest nerd who ever lived- uncoordinated, all arms and legs.  I was quite a sight loping down the court during P.E. in my yellow sweat suit.  The kids gave me a nickname- The Flying Banana.”

At this, we all dissolve in the giggles.

“And,” I said, “I was in an inner city school!  It is pretty astonishing that I got along as well as I did.  The irony is that the kids at that tough school were so much more accepting of me than the small Christian school I attended the year before.”

The conversation moved on to other topics, but I was left pondering the tremendous force that so shaped my life- legalism.  I thought about how much it hurt me as a child.  I pondered the sad truth that my parents were good people who were just trying so hard to be right.  I was left remembering the long, difficult years of young adulthood in which I struggled my way to the light of freedom, hurting a lot of people along the way because I was bitter.  As far as I can see, legalism is consistent in that one respect- it always bears the fruit of bitterness.

I have tried to wrap words around this force, legalism, that so defined me but all descriptions seem to fall short.  It is an impersonation of spirituality, the rules and regulations that leave out the heart, or maybe even kill it.  It is focusing on a point, to the destruction of the whole.  It is a plastic model of all that is beautiful, mysterious, and miraculous.  It is man playing God while pretending to serve him.

It is a thousand images of despair that flood my memories.  It is standing in front of a class of students, the painfully shy new kid while the teacher who had never before spoken to me excoriated me because the long skirt I was wearing had a slit that was 3″ long.  It is listening to a firebrand sermon with a group of kids like me, and then standing alone under the condemning eyes of the adults, as every other kid went to the altar at the end to “make a decision”.  I stayed put because I knew I had not heard from God, and it felt like a betrayal of both of us for me to fake it.  It is that same group of kids who went down front to find holiness telling me how ugly I was.  It was them throwing things at me as I sat alone at the front of the bus.

It is finding myself doubting there was a God at all, and then coming to a place where I realized that if there was, He hated me.  It is sinking down into deep depression a couple of years afterwards.  It is despising my self and wanting to die.  It is an ocean of tears shed alone in the dark.

And then, after a few more years, it is discovering I could no longer shed tears at all.

Somehow, God broke through.  He began to dismantle the lies first; then He began to show me the truth.  It is not about condemnation, it is about grace.  It is not about the rules, it is about loving God and being loved right back.  It is about acceptance, and freedom, thankfulness, and joy. It is the mystery of a life lived with a greater holiness than legalism alone could ever produce, because this life is lived in gratitude, love, and the Spirit of God. It is about still being human, still failing, but getting back up again because I can rest in God’s forgiveness. It is about remembering the devastation and laughing out loud because I see that God redeemed it all.

It is about looking back at that girl, that awkward, lonely girl who was all arms and legs in a yellow sweatsuit and seeing how precious she was, just like she was.  It is about making peace with The Flying Banana.

But God is in the stillness of Creation, and He always calls to the broken hearted- “Come. Be still.”

And then, there is nothing to hide. Defenses are stripped bear as voice of God speaks silently in the frost, the wood, the branches of the pine. At last, tears fall, prayers are whispered, and hope is found once again as I am reminded that He not only formed all I see, but he walked it as well when he folded up the power of the universe to wrap it in humanity. They called him a man of sorrows. They said he was aquainted with grief. (Isaiah 53:3) His incarnation was an act of humility driven by his love for us.

And He still bends low to comfort me, speaking in the stillness of Creation.

I close my eyes and I can feel the hot wind of The Wilderness of Judea.  I can see the brutal glare of the sun glinting off of the face of Masada.  I can feel the sweat trickle down my back as I hike into the holy quiet of The Wilderness of Zin.  Heat radiates off ancient stones on the path to En Gedi as I run my hand along the rocks where David hid and gaze into the brilliance of the Salt Sea in the distance.

The desert calls to me, but what can I do?  It is December in Tennessee and I don’t exactly have the means to hop an airplane to Israel, or even Arizona for that matter.  I tried out Bikram Hot Yoga on Saturday to see if that would help.  Dont’ ask me about it.  I don’t have anything nice to say.

What was I thinking?

There was heat alright.  Heart pounding, head shattering heat.  I left exhausted instead of refreshed.  Depleted, instead of  renewed.  Angry instead of peaceful.  There was heat and struggle, but there was something missing.

I close my eyes and I am back on the path to En Gedi.  The sun beats down as I adjust my hat and take a drink from the water bottle I carry everywhere I go.  A few more steps and I hear the faint sound of water trickling against the rock.  The sound grows stronger as I  climb the path.  Soon I see a small stream.  Further ahead it widens and quickens. In the distance I hear the steady roar of water as the world begins to turn green around me.  Then, around the bend everything is transformed as water crashes from the top of a high cliff into a deep pool in front of me.

And that is why I love the desert.  The sun.  The heat.  The rock and sand.  The fierce, barren loveliness of it all.  It is because I am reminded that no matter how deep my wilderness, there is hope.  No matter how dry and weary the land, an oasis awaits me. (Psalm 63:1) No matter how desperate and broken I become, I can safely sing in the shadow of God’s wings. (Psalm 63:7)

“Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you.  I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands.  My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you.  On my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night.  Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings.”  (Psalm 63:3-7)

“Why didn’t the elf move?” they asked the next morning over breakfast.

“Uhhhh…” I stammered while my teenage daughter snickered behind her french toast sticks. “How do you know he didn’t move? Maybe he likes that spot.”

And then I forgot the next night too. And the next.

The little kids began to discuss the possibility that our elf was a dud.

“Do you pay Santa to have that elf here?”. They wanted to know. “Because he’s not a very good one.”

More snickering by the teenager.

The next morning my eyes fly open and my first thought is “Move the elf. Move the elf.”

I came downstairs to find he was gone. The snickering teenager took pity on the little kids and moved it herself.

I was determined to do better. So the next night I stood with the elf in hand after everyone was in bed and tried to come up with something fantastic.

I have a friend who is very creative with her elf. She even once had it roasting miniature marshmallows on a toothpick over a candle flame when her kids came down for breakfast. She also takes hot Paninis to the school when she visits for lunch. She makes homemade Lego Halloween costumes and tiles the bath. All of this while suffering from chronic anemia. I told her that if she ever gets blood there will be no telling what she will accomplish and that I may then not be able to be her friend anymore because she will make me feel too bad about myself.

So I stood there, Elf in hand, trying to think like her. Nothing clicked. Finally, I spotted a toy car on the ground. Ah, ha! I would place the car on top of the entertainment center and have the elf drive the car. Brilliant!

The kids came down the next morning and stood beneath the entertainment center staring up at the elf.

“Why is he in a car way up there?”

“Hey- that’s my car.”

“What the heck?”

The teenager snickered behind her bacon.

Stupid elf.

A deep breath, and ahhhh….

“Ugh. This yoga mat smells like feet.”

And since I am the only one who uses it, I am the only one to blame.

Keleah interrupted my self disgust to proclaim, “Unto us a Child is born…” and just as quickly as I had dissolved into wondering why I can never hold it all together, I slipped into the arms of grace instead.

Unto us a Child is born, and that makes all the difference for hardworking, perpetually falling apart, less than graceful humans like me.

I learned from the cradle that God wrapped himself in humble flesh to lie in a manger. I knew in pre-school that the baby grew into a sinless man who gave himself to pay the price for all of my naughtiness. Oh yes, I possessed a bent towards mischief even then and I learned without anyone teaching me that the best way to cover up my bent was with dishonesty. Terribly inconvenient trait in the first-born child of a country preacher.

But I didn’t learn until far into adulthood that Jesus of Nazareth was not only redemption for my mischief and deceit but a safe place for me to rest when I had given my all and fallen face down once again into let’s say…a yoga mat that smelled like feet.

And oh, how I’ve needed that safe place of grace, because as all of us who give it our best and then fall time and again know- if we are not condemning ourselves, there is an absolute wealth of people lined up to take over the job…spouses, mothers, mother-in-laws, teenage children, pre-school children for that matter. Sometimes, our accuser is even a complete stranger.

I’ll never forget the time I drug myself wearily into a new mom’s prayer group for the first time not long after my girls came home from Haiti. I had just gone from three to five children, and no one was adjusting well. There were a lot of car seats to buckle and unbuckle (four to be exact) A lot of crying. A lot of grieving. A lot of chronic eye-twitching and heart palpitations on my part.

So, I collapsed into this prayer group for the first time and to get to know each other, we all went around and told our names and how many kids we had and their ages. When my turn came, I rattled off the stats to the predictable gasping around the room.

Five??? You have five???

Then, one lady addressed me directly with a terribly concerned frown on her face. She was a very involved mother of two. She asked, “So, with five children do you feel like you are able to give each of your children enough individual attention?”

Ouch. What do you say to that?

There’s not much to say, but only one thing to do- fall into the safety of the Arms of Grace. For unto us a Child is born, and He’s already seen our worst and loved us anyway.

Even when our yoga mat smells like feet.

And…I don’t understand moms who walk in on a mind-bending disaster her kids have created who then have the wherewithal to video it. I have seen several versions of this over the years. There was one where the kids had painted everything in the living room in white paint, including the TV and themselves. The newest version of this is a mom who went to the bathroom and a few minutes later came out to find that her small sons had emptied a five pound bag of flour all over everything.

The part that amazes me the most about these videos is how calm the parents are. It is a simple, soothing, “What are you doing?”

I will be honest here- If I walked in on this kind of disaster there would definitely be some yelling. There would be tears (mine and theirs). It would not be my best mom moment.

So here’s to you, all of you racoon capturing, catfish wrestling, husband sharing superhumans. Cheers to you amazing smiling mother of 19 and counting. And- Kudos to all of you out there who are the rarest and most spectacular of all humans- the video taping, calm in the midst of disaster moms. You are better than I am. I admit it.

Or you are on drugs.

Believing the best.

Resisting the dark.

Turning my face toward the sun.

Choosing life.

And hope.

And kindness.

And love once again.

Forgiving.

Forgiving you.

Forgiving me.

I think I’ll fight back with something beautiful.

“Summing it all up, friends, I’d say you’ll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious- the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not to curse.  Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realized.  Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies.”  Philipians 4:9 MSG