I had to stop reading blogs yesterday.  All the stories about doing for Lent, they dumped a truckload of guilt on my heart. I wore the shoulds around like wet clothes dripping tears of regret.

And didn’t I just write about that word earlier this week?

Jump in the waters of accusation fully clothed when I got the phone call asking why I didn’t make the hair appointment I was looking forward to and had wrong in my calendar. Because after all, your calendar isn’t really that full and you’ve just messed up the schedule of the person who makes you look good.

Then soaked again after another phone call, with the doctor about my son who lays sick on the couch for six days now. Her questions that reveal my oversight.  After all, a mother holds the wand of perfection, doesn’t she?

Then when I can’t remember the last name of the girl I mentor as I check in at the high school, holding the lunch from Sonic I’m not even sure she will like. Because you should know more about her after meeting that one time for forty-five minutes in the library of pizza and conversation.

I drip condemnation onto the wooden chair and the dirty blue carpet, surrounded by ancient monitors and dusty classroom projects under dim fluorescent, waiting for the girl and wondering.  In my ineptness, what  do I have to give this girl with the sandy shores of need?

A cacophony of voices shout melodies of accusation and I finally lay it all out on the bed in a dark room as thunder cracks open, adding its eery to my heavy sighs. Watch rain spit on window and birds huddle under leafy branches like crouching in the basement under sirens warning.

As the rain falls in sheets that sheer the view on Maundy Thursday, I duck under eaves, run into church, to remember His sacrifice. Remember His last meal before the day of betrayal, accusation, pain, suffering and death.

And as I take His body broken for me, dip it in the cup of His blood, I chew on the conviction that I am not measured by what I do, but the grace I accept.

That living in the light of faith, is discovered by wrestling in the dark.

And my soggy heart of sin will never outweigh his love for me.

That knowledge is the sweet harmony misting over me today.  I see it, the light peeking through on the horizon.  Sunday is coming in all her illuminated light glory.

Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That’s how the light get in.
~Leonard Cohen

What are you carrying today that you can lay at his feet and trade for grace?

Linking with Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday and a bit more today with the one word prompt: Light . Because on this Good Friday, there is bit more to ponder.