Good Enough…

I guess good is in the eyes of the beholder… Thank goodness for true love’s blind eyes.

Our youngest vandal loves my hair.  He likes to play with it, smell it and… unfortunately  – chew on it.  Charlie, is a little lover.  Blonde hair, cherry cheeks and golden eyes – hide your daughters.  And one of the man-babies had this quality.

They love to love.

Still do.

 

Back in the man-babies’ toddler days the younger was also notorious for running off babysitters with his affectionate ways.  I remember one sitter passing him off to me and blushing, “Mrs. Amerine, I think he likes me too much. I don’t think my fiancé would approve.”

No kidding, he raised his eyebrows and winked at her.

John really only had eyes for me.

Sam the same.

Charlie and Luke always look forward to a visit from the college-babes the lady-baby brings to the house or when the tween-baby has a slumber party…

 

As of late, if Maggie’s truck pulls up out front Charlie runs to get a brush to make his hair look, “gooder.”  Today when he saw her in the drive he yelped, “Mommy!  Gets a brush so I can look the goodest for Maggie’s and her fwends!”

I knew Maggie was alone, but I obliged his request and combed his hair and gave it a spritz of shellac.  I giggled as he marched to find Maggie. His face had remnants of PBJ on it.  His bare feet were a little muddy and his bum was sopping wet, as the sandbox was a little soupy from sweet spring rain.  His chubby fingers were slightly sticky and stained red from the mixed-berry popsicle he’d enjoyed on the porch with his kitten; which explained the gummy kitty hairs that adorned his arms and chin.

From my room I heard Maggie’s delight, “HI CHARLIE!”

In some ways, he was altogether gross.

Yet… she delighted in him.  I heard him inquire, “Do you yike my hair?”

“Yes!” she chimed, “I do!  It looks very nice!”

There was no mention of the “buffalo boy smell,” which was fully indicative of an entire day of outside play in both sunshine and rain.

Good enough for a hug.

Good enough for applause.

Good enough for adoration.

Good enough.

This word.

Good.

[clickToTweet tweet=”Good enough for a hug. Good enough for applause. Good enough for adoration. Good enough. This word. #Good.” quote=”Good enough for a hug. Good enough for applause. Good enough for adoration. Good enough. This word. #Good.”]

Hardly enough.

Barely conveys.

Was there not a thesaurus handy when the labeling of this remarkable Friday was assigned an adjective?

Truly, I nearly didn’t post today.  Are there words available to try to convey the magnitude of this day?

Surely, they have all been said.

I have a thesaurus… still, what is good enough?

Certainly not me?

Me, with a bleach stain on my left breast, a careless laundress.

Me, with my hair in a sloppy pony tail, a wilted daisy, a gift from a vandal, tucked behind my un-jeweled ear.

Me, undecorated and overly tired, in the midst of a work day it occurred to me… my yoga pants were on inside out… and backwards. Also – I didn’t even attempt to do yoga today.  Well, I bent over to pick up some crayons and couldn’t get back up so I counted that as a ONE downward facing dog.

My hamstrings are still burning.

Good enough.

Hardly.

Barely.

Yet, today in the midst of worries, frets, a season of sadness for my family, and a day when I am to reflect on my salvation, I crave to be “good.”  I ponder a perfection worthy of a “gooder” day to date, well…. Until the most “goodest” day arrives.

The Resurrection of my Savior.

Everything about the story is an oxymoron.  A criminal’s brutal execution for an innocent Son – for the salvation of all; all who are far from good.  A sacrificial lamb – who then is raised from the dead and sits at the right hand of the Father, and calls it “finished.”

At minimum, shouldn’t I have at least borrowed Charlie’s brush?

Turned my pants right-side in and around to the front?

Brushed my teeth?

Read my bible?

Changed my shirt?

This Friday, for the first time in my Christian walk I am in awe of the sacrifice in spite of the mess.  When every year before my face may have been painted, my fingers and toes polished, a list of things to do… checked off and circled… a pretty blue blouse, cleaned and starched.

And I counted myself “good.”

I counted my works “sufficient.”

I believed I was getting closer to the faultlessness that would count me… perfect.

Righteous.

Excellent.

Magnificent.

Why?

Why would I believe that my toils earned me such accolades and affections when the grandest of days is simply…GOOD?

I delight in this.  Awesome hardly seems fit, as I just used that word to describe my sandwich.

Excellent isn’t worthy.

Supreme seems shallow.

Perhaps it is this simple word “good,” that works so precisely.

Accurate and magnificent.

Spot on and unbelievable.

Mind bending… yet simple.

For at my worst, He is most glad to save me.

[clickToTweet tweet=”For at my worst He is most glad to save me. #Jesus #GoodFriday” quote=”For at my worst He is most glad to save me. #Jesus #GoodFriday”]

Good enough for a hug.

Good enough for applause.

Good enough for adoration.

A daughter of a good God who sees His girl worthy of saving, ignoring my smells, haircare, and laundry habits.

Lord create in me things that make me “gooder.”

Thank you, Jesus, that you see me as the “goodest.”

Truly, my beloved Savior, today is so Good.

May your floor be sticky and your calling ordained. Happy Easter!  Love, Jami

The Curse of Unbelief: Real Poison and Some Bad Ju-Ju

For You, Lord, are good, Psalm 86:5

 

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