Postage due.

I confess…I love getting letters.

I love beautiful artwork on postage stamps.

But like vintage paper, the art of the written word seems to have nearly disappeared.

A romantic at heart, I still enjoy writing long letters to friends. I pen a handwritten wish in my Christmas cards each year.

The gene must have been passed down, for my Sweet Louise is happily taking up the techniques of calligraphy.

She loves how the ink from the well flows fluid across the page. Reaching out to touch history.

Post cards. Old mailboxes. Mail bags.

They are all a means by which we correspond with another.

We communicate.

We share.

I picked her up from school this afternoon.

Things there have been frustrating as they work out the wrinkles in the new high-school program. Add to it a group of hormonal adolescents, and you have a pretty spicy recipe for tension.

I know this.

You would think that I could see it coming a mile away and divert my route.

But somehow I inevitably find myself engaged on occasion.

And today was a day.

Sucked into the whirlwind of emotion and negativity. Emma and I were exchanging sighs and grittings of teeth. Raised voices. Passionate defenses.

The car ride home, a disaster. 

Once inside she headed to her room. Behind her, the door. More willpower than her mother, she closed it without slamming.

We both needed space.

…

How did this happen?

I had really looked forward to the stories of her day.

But this afternoon, the usual smiles and laughter had been replaced. Discontent and complaining filled the airspace between us.

And it wasn’t at all pretty.

Our late afternoon travel was rather like receiving a letter with a ‘postage due’ stamp on it.

You anticipate something wonderful and you find out it’s marked with a requirement. A regulation.

It kind of takes away some of the joy of the card enclosed.

Anticipations are tainted.

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Do you ever feel that way with people?

Like when they give you a present, but you know there’s always something attached.

They ask you about it months later ~ Are you using it? Where did you put it? Are you taking care of it the way that they would expect?

It feels more like a chain and less like a gift.

Well, I’ve come to learn that the delivery of such a gift is no different than the delivery of our words.

Do we deliver them with sweetness?

With love?

Or are they presented like little swords of unrest, leaving wounded hearts in their wake?

An emotional price to be paid.

In the upper right corner, a stamp of rejection. 

Of hurt.

You see, I gave my less-than-eloquent perspective this afternoon during that ride in the car. Ranting. Fuming. Expressing disappointment.

All the while, Emma conveyed her feelings. Arms crossed. Eyes rolling, in that classic teenage, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation style.

And in our exchange, I had somehow anticipated that Emma would respond to my perspective with kindness and respect.

And I’m guessing that she expected more love and gentleness from me.

Her mom.

A greater willingness to be a softer landing place for her hurts of the day.

Alas, I failed once again.

Postage due ALL over that one!

1 Corinthians 10:13

No temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear it.

About an hour or so later, we came out of our rooms and hugged each other.

God’s love wins again, in the midst of our tangled human existence.

A reflection of His Grace.

How grateful we are for this gift of forgiveness!

For the One who cancels our debt.

Who pays our ‘postage due’.

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How many times do we interact with a family member, a friend, in a way that is laced with a proverbial price to be paid?

When we perform a kindness, looking for a reward.  Expecting the other person to spin webs of gratitude around our actions.

Or the occasions when we give, not from the genuine goodness of our heart, but for the pursuit of attention gained.

Seeking approval.

Playing the martyr.

All driven by our lack of self-esteem. Our lack of true identity.

Or the times when we breathe fiery flames of insensitivity, only building a wall to defend our territory.

Our angle.

Our way of thinking.

The countering statements that we spew are mere threads that we grasp in order to maintain a perceived sense of control.

…

I learned a slogan many years ago in the rooms of a treasured Al-Anon convention:

When I find myself in turmoil, I need to look at my motives.

To consider my purpose.

In the ever escalating engagement with the other person I need to ask:

“Do I want to be right, or do I want to be free?”

As our relationship with Christ becomes more intimate and we identify with His teachings, we more consistently choose the latter.

Being free.

Free in Him.

For we come to understand that being right truly serves no purpose for His Glory.

We come to know that surrendering to His grace holds everything! For it has no price.

No postage due. 

Only reward.

Only His love.

Real.

Authentic.

Unencumbered, always-faithful, fill your heart to overflowing love!

From the lessons like today, I am beginning to understand the treasures of humility.

The beauty in servant-hood.

And the perfect power of forgiveness, once again.

…

As I close my eyes to sleep tonight, my heart knows peace.

For His mercies are new with each sunrise!

Tomorrow is another day to try again. To show my darling daughter that I hold near to my Jesus as I continue to grow in Him.

I am far from the perfect mom.

I am fragile.

I am fallible.

But the great joy is that our journey is unending!

God is forever molding us. And all the while, we get the pleasure of walking with Him. Discovering a closer, more cherished relationship with our Savior.

We are given yet another amazing opportunity to unwrap His Word.

To open His love letters, so painstakingly written on our hearts.

To us, with love.