Clean Slate

Glen’s mum is coming to stay with us on Monday. She’s a lovely Christian woman and we’re looking forward to seeing her.

But the thought of it also fills me with fear.

‘I want to show you I can look after your son’.  But for most of our married life I have done precisely the opposite.

I want to say: ‘you can trust me with him.  I’m no longer crazy’.

But whilst I’ve returned to normal: it’s normal Me.  Which is still messed-up in hundreds of ways that aren’t anorexic.

I want to make it better.

I want to rewind to our wedding day and the speeches and the clinking glasses and the confidence and the hope.  I want to take the bride aside and whisper, ‘Love him. Don’t do this.  Don’t go back’.

I want to take what’s been and crush it and start anew.

But how  many home-cooked meals does it take to make up for years of eating alone? How many hugs pierce a circle of ribs? How many sorries before you know you’re done?

I want to be forgiven.  But I can’t make up for my own mistakes.

I want to hear ‘You’re my daughter and I love you’.  But no matter how many times my husband, or his mum or my mum say it, it’s never enough.

I want to make it better. But I can’t.

Which is why tomorrow means Everything. Because not only does Jesus die – and with Him, the old me, with all she longs to undo.  Jesus is also resurrected.  Which means a fresh start – for me and all who come to Him.

The God who redeems the past.

The Saviour who pays for my mistakes.

The Lord who is enough – for all our needs, for all our sins, for all our regrets.