I sat in Ms Glidwell's class and listened carefully as she taught us to sing. She sang strange words in beautiful pitches and we were supposed to match her... do re mi fa so la ti do. Those were the words to help you warm up for full songs. I wondered why we couldn't just sing a regular song, but I was thankful for her voice. There was something magical about the way that she sang to us. I held my little third grade hands on my lap and then she asked me to stand up and match her voice. I can't sing like you. Those were the only words running through my mind. She sang the first note and I followed. Each note I sang with her. And then she clapped, proud of me. I looked up into her eyes and I was thankful that I didn't mess up in front of the whole class. She patted me on the shoulder and I took my seat.
A few days later we were gathered around the computer playing a game. Some kind of voice recognition game. It was my turn to sing the solo with the voice coming out of the speakers. If I could just make it through the song and take my seat. I took a deep breath and began to sing. First verse, chorus. Second verse. Yes, I remember it quite well; it was in the second verse when my voice cracked. My cheeks flooded with red, embarrassed that I messed up in front of everyone. Ms Glidwell patted me on the back and gave me a slight squeeze for comfort, "See, even Jordan's not perfect." Now they know. Now they know that I'm not perfect. Even Ms Glidwell knows now. What am I going to do?!
So today I want to just get it out in the open in case you weren't in that class with me: I am very far from perfect. I hate doing the dishes. Like, I would rather not ever do them again and just eat off of my hands. I get really behind with laundry and we end up with mountains of clothes. Somedays I don't want to cook and Isaac does it for me. I don't dust. You think I kid, but I don't. I don't even cook the perfect pancakes. In fact, the first one normally burns. Every time. I don't know what the deal is.
Ms Glidwell pulled me aside just before class was over that day long ago. Maybe she could see the devastation in my eyes. She told me something that I will never forget, "Jordan, you don't have to be perfect for me or anyone else. Go have fun and run around at recess."
I am covered with grace. COVERED. And I want to live my life like that. I want this blog to be a place where you can be encouraged to walk with the Lord. Because He covers with grace. Abounding grace. Unendless grace. Surpassing grace.
And I would rather walk with the Lord under His Grace every day than feel the weight of my imperfections. Go be free of all of it this weekend. Like a little child running under grace.