So, yeah I made a $300 mistake yesterday. I was talking on the phone with my sister and trying to drive and back out of a driveway, (which is something someone with A.D.D. does not need to do).

Anyhow I didn’t see the pretty decorative, iron wheel in the ladies driveway, backed right into it and pulled half my bumper off and ripped the pretty, maximum steel paint, off my only a few months old, still smells like new– minivan.

This is not the kind of phone call you want to make to your husband.

Especially since this is not the first offense of scratching or hitting things with a new, minivan. And ESPECIALLY because he just made a mistake that cost us money a few weeks ago and I read him the riot act times ten. (Emphasize ten).

I call in a panic, knowing he’s going to freak, take his chance for revenge, and he gives me love and grace instead. (Yeah I really needed that big, fat lesson).

When he gets home I stand in the picture window biting my nails, as he examines the damage. I tentatively make my way outside and he says he can probably get most of the dings out of it, make it presentable and takes it in the garage and goes to work.

I cook dinner staring out the window every two minutes, praying. I go out to survey his handiwork, and I’m amazed at how he turns the screwdriver and ratchet like it’s nothing and can fix anything.  He looks up at me with that big, dimpled smile and I’m wracked with guilt because of the grace he has given me.

So this is what the Apostle Paul meant when he told us not to not repay evil for evil and to love instead. He said it will be like heaping burning coals upon their heads. My head feels likes it’s on fire at this point.

He does a miraculous job, puts it back together, to the point you can’t even tell any damage was done unless you look very close. He says it will eventually still need a new bumper and paint because underneath it’s still scratched and inner liner is tattered.

I’m relieved at the job he’s done because to be frank, I couldn’t stand looking at it when it was all mangled and ugly. I didn’t want to drive around with it looking like that. I wanted it back to sparkly and new.

I stare at the van and something unnerves me as I look at it.

Because maybe it parallels my heart and life.

How the wrecked, banged up van made me feel exposed and embarrassed. And how now with all the imperfections hidden—I feel relieved and presentable.

At times I want to present to the world my glossy, facebook worthy, put-together side, but shudder to think what if some saw the really, ugly sides to me? The crippled, mangled, not so healed parts?

The screamer at my kids. The wife who nags her husband and can cut him to the core with her words. The lady who struggles with depression, perfectionism, and deep insecurities that continue to surface.

And then I remember.

I go.

And as I sit at His feet, I weep and wonder for the ten thousandth time how did I ever forget this?

He does not love just the sides to me that I may think are acceptable or pleasing. He loves ALL of me completely, and extravagantly. And not because of how much I do, or am—because I am His.

The more you and I sit at Christ’s feet and allow Him to love us right where we are, the more you and I feel safe enough to reveal who we really are to others. Because it’s His love and acceptance that makes us brave enough to do so.

And that’s when the healing comes.

 It’s not our pretty, put together lives that build connections. But our scars. Our battle wounds. So when we cover them up and don’t let others in and cover our hearts and lives with shiny, masks—we are losing.

 Losing our true identities in Christ that we are loved not because of what we do, but because of who HE is. We are losing healing. And intimacy with Christ and others.

I pull the van out the next morning, grateful for grace.

Grateful for a minivan with scratches and imperfections.

Grateful for lessons.

Even the expensive ones.

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