Stories worth retelling

Yesterday I was telling some friends that I enjoy being around authentic women, and get a little nervous when I meet someone who seems a little too perfect.

And then I silently wondered why I spend so much time and energy trying to look like I've got it all together.

Because, like everyone I really know, I don't.

(Need evidence? One son is crying in his crib right now. One is smushing Play Doh all over my kitchen -- you know those times when you willingly trade 10 minutes of time now for 20 minutes of clean up later? And the other is at his cousin's house, where he better be behaving. Oh, and I'm supposed to be grading papers...)

We were recently given The Jesus Storybook Bible. It's amazing -- and will now be my go-to new mom gift.  Every night when I read it to my boys, I realize that I need to hear the stories just as much as they do.

This week I read my boys, "The Friend of little children" (from Matthew 18, 19, Mark 10, and Luke 18). It described how Jesus' friends were arguing about who was the "most important helper in God's kingdom."

The story says, "Now, if you had been there, what do you think -- would you have had to line up quietly to see Jesus? Do you think Jesus would have asked you how good you'd been before he'd give you a hug? Would you have had to be on your best behavior? And get dressed up? And not speak until spoken to?"

I realized that I could substitute my own line of questioning -- do you think Jesus will only love you if you're caught up on laundry? If your kids sit quiet enough in church? Do you think you'll be more deserving of God's love if you volunteer for one more committee or respond to your emails a little bit faster? If you work a little harder, look a little better?

I've written about this before. But, like the Bible stories I need to hear again and again, I also need constant reminding that God's love is already assured, that I don't have to prove myself -- that grace by its very definition is unearned and undeserved. It's not about me. I can't save myself.

But the story's happy ending -- for my kids, for me, for us all -- goes, "You see, children loved Jesus, and they knew they didn't need to do anything special for Jesus to love them. All they needed to do was to run into his arms. And so that's just what they did."