"I am so behind. I will never catch up."
My nine-year-old sobs carried through the house to the ears of my ever-attuned mother, in spite of my attempts at muffling them.
"What's the matter, baby?" with an attempt at hiding the tone of worry in her voice, she questioned as she walked into the room noting the lump under the covers,
"Nothing..." I meekly mewed, tears streaming down my face.
But with continued coaxing and well-discerned guesswork, the words fell out of my mouth in a jumble of snobs and sniffs.
"I am supposed to read a Psalm a day, Mommy, and I am SO behind!! I have been trying so hard to catch up all week but I just keep getting more and more behind."
"Who told you to read a Psalm a day?"
"I don't know...." I shrugged, slowly starting to breathe again.
With wisdom and understanding, Mom said, "Lindsey, Jesus is not mad at if you do not get to read one Psalm every day."
"I know, Mommy, but I really wanted to!"
"I know you do, and that is what makes Jesus happy. Your heart. The fact that you WANT to read your Bible and try to do it every day makes Him happy."
"Why don't you go to sleep now? Okay, little girl?"
I snuggled down under the covers as my mom tucked me in.
"I love you, Lindsey."
At nine years old and a natural-born "good girl," I had just learned my first lesson, in a long line of journeys to come, about His crazy grace.
And my heart would never quite be the same.
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