No more convictions...

Birds singing outside my window... the Sunday after Easter, 36 Easters and I'm still not sure I understand. Do I really understand the resurrection? Tradition takes hold of me daily. My husband says I'm ruled by my convictions. He makes it sound so good- like someone I'd like to know. But I know the fear, the anger, the doubts that rule over me. I know I met Jesus. In the basement of the Second Baptist Church one morning. Mrs. Anderson talked quietly about the cross, about Jesus dying for me. And I felt his presence. I felt remorse, even at the age of seven or eight. I knew he died for me. I had never felt so free and clean. I floated above the sidewalk on the way back to class. 28 or 29 years isn't really a long time. But it seems that way. And all I can think about is what have I done? Have I done anything to show my allegiance? There comes a time when convictions aren't enough. Convictions don't make you love someone. Convictions don't bind up the wounds of others. Convictions walk around the traveler lying in the road. Convictions don't serve with joy. They stand their ground. They are the heralds, the moral compass of the group. But they leave you a little cold. A little misunderstood. And further from the little basement in the second Baptist Church. And they make you more grounded to the sidewalk on the way back to class. Fast forward and all I can think about is the past. The way I felt back then - the way I want to feel now. Alive! Resurrected! Clean! I know I don't have to go back. I just have to reach out. Reach out past the dishes. Reach past the piles of laundry. Then there's my son.. A beautiful gift. I have to reach past my pride. Find the freshness of a new parent. Strip away the convictions, the traditions, the expectations of others in my traditional bubble. Spare the rod and spoil the child they say, but what about "Thy Rod and Thy staff they comfort me?". What about "goodness and mercy"? What about Grace? I ask you,Lord,to pick me up out of my puddle of self-righteousness. And instead of placing my feet on solid ground,I ask you to help me float. Float above my expectations for my son and myself, above the dirty sidewalk of my anger , above the bully inside of me that desires to force my son to do right instead of leading him gently like a shepherd by the still waters. Instead of gently making him to lie down in green pastures filled with the flowers of encouragement, the nourishment of acceptance. Help me to lead him to you, and in the process, find you myself. Again. Amen.