It's just after lunchtime. Today is a Snow Day, so the kids are home from school. To complicate matters further, we're just coming out of a three-week-long stretch of sickness, and I missed going in to work both Monday and Tuesday, so I'm attempting to work from home. The kids want to enjoy the day outside, and since Grandma and Papa who live just around the corner also happen to be retired, they are outside playing with the kids. My father-in-law then lovingly offers to plow the driveway since Jake is working late for the foreseeable future.
A few minutes later I get a call from said FIL asking to have my MIL and the children come meet him in the path between our house and theirs as he has gotten the snow plow stuck on his way over. He can use "as much help as he can get." I holler out the door explaining the situation to Grandma, and before I can blink she has herded the kids towards the woods to rescue Papa.
With a sigh, and a side of guilt at not being able to help, I turn back into the house and begin to look around. There is so much housework to be done I don't even feel like the smallest task will make a dent. On the other hand, I still have emails to send, texts to write, and calls to make for work. I need a Coke. Okay, so this last bout of sickness has caused me to reexamine my health choices, and I know Coke is on the "bad" list, but in this moment, I just want a tiny bit of comfort from my fizzy, sugary friend.
That's when it hits me: I have no idea just how many of my thoughts have been wrapped in guilt so far today. I feel guilty making the dog wait a few extra minutes to go out so I can wake up a bit before bundling up for the blistering cold. I feel guilty for not being ahead of the kids with breakfast ready when they come downstairs, excited about their Snow Day. I feel guilty for being the only team member out of the office today because of my kids. I feel guilty for the technical phone problems we have causing a delay so I can be part of our important meeting. I feel guilty letting the kids play Minecraft while I'm on the phone with coworkers for the important meeting. I feel guilty not going out with the kids to play in the snow. I feel guilty not focusing as much on work as I should. I feel guilty being home and not cleaning the house. I feel guilty for grabbing a Coke out of the refrigerator instead of water. I could go on. All of that and it's only the first half of the day.
I have a feeling that if Jesus were to stop at my house today, in the flesh, He wouldn't look around in disgust at the messes. He wouldn't ask for a rundown of what I've accomplished for my job today. He wouldn't ask how many hours or minutes of quality time I spent with my children. He would probably open the fridge (because that's the kind of friend Jesus is: a "fridge rights" friend) grab a Coke for me, and one for himself, and plop down next to me on the couch. We'd sit cross-legged and face to face drinking our Cokes and just being together. I think He would dodge all that stupid small talk that I have come to despise, look deep into my eyes, and ask, "So how are you doing today? Like, really?" Then He would hold me close and let me blubber into His shirt because I know that He knows EXACTLY how I'm really doing today. When I finally get all the tears out, He would find the box of tissues amidst the piles of laundry and hand me one, strategically letting his hand linger long enough for me to see the scars in His palm.
"Remember this?" I think He would say as we looked together at his hands. I would nod and blow my nose loudly. "All of your guilt hung on the cross with Me that day. It's finished. You don't have to keep trying to take it back." I would nod, and dab my eyes with a new tissue.
"I keep forgetting," I would say, looking down. Then He would lift my chin until our eyes met again.
"I know," He'd say, "it's okay. I'm here to help. I'm not going anywhere."
Then I'd hold onto Him and cry again because that's just exactly what I needed to hear. I'd blow my nose again and laugh nervously while I joke about looking like a wreck. And Jesus would make that face your friend makes when they know you're being crazy, and He'd say, "You look exactly the way you are supposed to look."
He'd hand me my Coke, and I'd sip it gladly. After all, it's a gift from God, so by definition it is good. Then we'd share a blanket because blankets make me feel all cozy, and we'd just talk about stuff. I'd tell Him more about what I was worried about, and He'd assure me He was already working on it. I'd ask Him what I should do about certain problems, and He'd come up with these amazing solutions I could have never dreamed up in a million years.
Finally, as the day wound down, I would start to yawn, but try to stay awake just to be with Him a bit longer. He would tell me it's time to rest, and tuck the cozy blanket around me as I laid my head on a pillow. I would start to drift off almost immediately in the peace and calm of His presence. But before I drifted off completely, I would hear Him whisper, "Remember, none of that guilt came from me, anyway. I love you. Sleep tight."
