Grace in Aisle Seven (Or How God Keeps a Mother Humble))
I didn’t understand grace until I became a mother.
Oh, I’d sung about it on Sunday mornings.
And I’d read about it in His word.
I’d thanked Jesus for it every time I slipped on my golden cross necklace.
And I’d even penned a few poems about it in perfect rhythm and rhyme.
And I’d even penned a few poems about it in perfect rhythm and rhyme.
But gritty grace, the save- me-from-myself kind of grace,
the new-mercies-every morning-kind of grace–
That’s the grace that I’ve found in the trenches of motherhood.
Making me a mother has been God’s ingenious plan to help me get over myself.
It’s been His personal invitation to walk humbly and love mercy.
To stop planning and start trusting.
Through the small and sticky hands of my own children, God has reached into those hidden caverns of my heart and has offered to scoop out my pride and perfectionism; my ingratitude and my gripes.
And it seems like His favorite place to accomplish this great excavation has been in the narrow aisles of our local grocery store.
There’s nothing that puts mothers under the microscope quite like shopping with small children.
I used to believe that there was some magic formula to a seamless shopping trip, and I assured myself that when I was a really good mom, I’d figure it out.
But when the owner of our small town super market greeted me at the door one morning with an industrial-sized mop and a knowing smile, I finally conceded that the grocery store is just God’s chosen construction site for this imperfect mama.
But when the owner of our small town super market greeted me at the door one morning with an industrial-sized mop and a knowing smile, I finally conceded that the grocery store is just God’s chosen construction site for this imperfect mama.
The day that God dug the deepest hole for grace was probably the day that I fished my preschooler out of the deep freeze.
I hadn’t seen it coming- the heart-work God intended to do right there in aisle seven.But God’s ways are higher than ours, and I guess He knows that the lower we stoop, the closer we come to His heart.
And believe me, there’s nothing quite like slamming into His heart right there on a pile of frozen peas.
I guess I should tell you that I was feeling rather proud of myself that day.
You see, I had actually planned ahead on that morning.
I’d raided the tattered Valentine’s bag sitting on my daughter’s dresser right before we’d headed out for the store.
And I’d congratulated myself on the wise forethought.
Armed with two bright-red lollipops, I’d buckled my preschoolers into the minivan and flashed them a convincing grin in the rear-view mirror.
“We’re gonna just grab a few groceries and get out of there,” I promised. “We’ll be home again before you know it.”
“We’re gonna just grab a few groceries and get out of there,” I promised. “We’ll be home again before you know it.”
I’d avoided eye-contact with the genial manager as we whisked through the glass door and had clocked record speed in the vegetable aisle before my children had even made a peep.
When one-year-old Maggie had grabbed a can of chicken noodle soup like a soldier handling a grenade, I’d reached for my sugary ammunition. One lick of that lollipop had squashed any interested my baby may have had in the growing pile of canned goods.
We’d turned the corner to aisle three, and I’d secured four boxes of healthy cereal without a single argument from my Lucky-Charms addict.
By aisle four, I’d wondered if I was having an out-of-body experience. No one had yet paused to comment on my “full hands” or my “busy little shoppers.”
When my three-year-old had grown bored in aisle five and had made a dash for the tiny skid loader parked behind the staff only sign in the dingy stock room, I’d quickly lured him back with my felicitous candy carrot. (And I’d felt like the poster mom for behavior management.)
I’d rounded the corner of aisle seven with a swagger in my step.
The check-out line was in sight and my children were still seated in the cart. With a mere five items left on my list, I’d begun to claim the victory.
But then I did something totally out of character.
For just a moment, I’d turned my back on my sticky duo and paused to calculate whether the sale price of Sara Lee’s wheat loaf was a better buy than my standard green package of Healthy Choice.
My only explanation is this: I’d been anesthetized by the lollipop triumph.
The sheer panic of impending mayhem that normally drives me through the store had failed to ignite. Duped by the counterfeit calm, I mistakenly believed that I had time to be thoughtful and thrifty.
I might have left the supermarket with a hearty dose of self-admiration if it weren’t for the yelp that baffled my brilliance. Somewhere in the middle of my savvy attempt to divide the number of bread slices by the cost of the loaf, I’d heard a familiar voice.
“My butt is cold! My butt is cold!”
Instantly, the mathematical marvel in the bread aisle had disappeared as my mortified self turned back to the cart just in time to notice that Joshua was no longer in it.
He’d dive-bombed into the open freezer case and lay sprawl-eagle on a bumpy stack of frozen peas.
Adding insult to injury, my baby’s miracle lollipop dangled gleefully from her curly hair as she applauded her brother’s amazing feat.
I could have walked out of the store and pretended to have no idea whose children were performing on the circus stage of aisle seven if it weren’t for the young man stocking the nearby shelf of Ritz crackers.
Unfortunately, I’d recognized the working lad as one of my husband’s patients.
As I’d fished my sky diver from the freezer case, I’d begged the Lord to protect my favorite doctor’s fine reputation and had wished – not for the first time–that I’d never filled my husband’s clinic rooms with hefty framed photos of our darling children.
While my three–year–old had babbled incessantly about the uncomfortable nature of frozen peas, I’d plucked a crimson lollipop from my baby’s wispy hair and asked the Lord if He’d consider relocating our family to a budding metropolis where nobody recognizes doctors’ wives.
Then I’d headed for the cash register.
When the courteous checker had asked me if I’d found everything I needed, I’d quickly assured her I had. But as I’d brushed an ice chip off of my son’s slender shoulder, I changed my mind.
“Actually,” I’d said with a cavalier glance at my list, “there is one item I’m still looking for…”
“Oh?” the bow-tied clerk had met my gaze with a raised eyebrow. “What was that?”
“Grace,” I’d said quietly. “Do you think I’d find that in aisle seven?”
Linking with Lauren, Mindy, and
Emily — where we are writing on the word “mother” this week.
Fantastic blog! Do you hasve any tips andd hints for asppiring writers?
I’m planning too start my owwn site soopn but I’m a little lost onn everything.
Would you propose starting with a free platform like WordPress or go ffor a paid option?
There are so mamy choices oout there thwt I’m completely confused ..
Any recommendations? Thank you!
Jedidja, my local grocery store needs to take a tip from your ingenious one! Climbing and computers? I think that might prevent deep freeze diving!
Glad we can laugh together even though an ocean spans the distance between us!
Oh my word, I’m having flashbacks. Mine are 11 and 8 and still I can’t take them in the store it’s almost like they resort back instantly to toddlers 😉
Yep, I agree, I didn’t know a thing about grace, love, pride or any of it till I had kids, God love em
I am upside down 🙂 What a beauty of a blog. This is life. Luckily there is in our store a playground to practice climbing and two computers.
Oh how I’ve missed these escapades and your words that flow so effortlessly! Thanks for the chuckle this morning…I really did laugh out loud! 🙂
Making me a mother has been God’s ingenious plan to help me get over myself.
Boy howdy, can I relate to that!
This is a wonderful story. Thanks for sharing it.
(Here via emily’s imperfect prose.)
I think you are right, at least it has been my experience, that we learn the true meaning of grace in the trenches of motherhood. Lovely post.
Fabulous post! Fun to read but oh, so true! Motherhood is God’s trial by fire. 🙂
It is good to tell such real and very funny stories. Young moms will know what to expect. 🙂
Fondly,
Glenda
What a great read! You are a talented writer with a wonderful way of sharing your heart. You stopped by my blog and left such a sweet note about motherhood. I, too, needed that encouragement today! 19 years of homeschooling and I should have it all together. Not today. Bad attitude. Mine. Sharp tongue. Mine. Starting over now. Me. Thank YOU for the reminder that everyday we receive the gift of a grace we don’t deserver.
Blessings,
Marty@Marty’s Musings