I had one legitimate "mom friend" back then. Our playdates were nice. I didn't do my hair or put on make-up or clean my house. No pretending. Sometimes we wouldn't even talk; we'd just be, and it was wonderful.
I'd look at her and say, "I'm so tired." And she'd say, "Me, too."
We'd watch our little girls play and have frozen French bread pizza. That was it. Zero percent pressure.
When we were together, I could breathe.
What if we moms made a pact with one another? I promise you this, friend: I give you freedom to breathe when we’re together.
If only we’d trade our pride for compassion. If only we’d humble ourselves and allow Jesus to permeate our hearts. If only we’d live real and honest and quit trying to reach that thing that none will attain–perfection.
Imagine it: Christ seeping, saturating, and filling through us. In and around us. Think of the grace. The sisterhood. Not competition or façade, but authentic graciousness because we recognize our own need for grace and mercy.
What a gift.
Father, give me grace that I might be gracious, give me mercy that I might be merciful. Break my pride and allow permeating humility to fill me. Please, forgive me for pretending, for the times that I looked a lot more like the world than like my Savior, for not being a friend when someone needed me desperately. Thank you for friends who love and breathe You; help me be that kind of friend. In His’ Name, Amen.
Author: Melissa Bronson