Last night, I made my debut as hot chocolate fixer upper at FUSE, Westover Church's youth group. It was a disaster. I'll administer an IQ test any day over serving hot chocolate to high schoolers. They like their hot chocolate fancy. Peppermint-Hazlenut-Gingerbread-whipped cream fancy.
At one point, as the line was becoming longer and longer, water from the canister thing spewed out and burned my hand. My hand turned red, y'all! Consequently, I dropped a full cup of hot chocolate everywhere. Looking over at Abilgail, amidst my frustration, I said, "Well, good thing Jesus doesn't mind a mess."
I kept thinking about the truth in that statement for the rest of the night. It lingered and followed me around like Lulu does, nagging away at me. It's almost as if God knew I would need that reminder today. My day was an absolute mess. I caught a mistake I had made. Felt inadequate. Had a date with anxiety and fear. Closed my office door so I could sit for a moment to catch my breath and cry. You know, the ugly cry. I overcommunicated. Got nothing done on my to-do list.
And now, as I lie in bed, drinking my ginger peach tea, I am simply thankful that Jesus truly does not mind my mess. That's often right where He meets me; In the place where my frailties and need for a Savior cannot be denied. He came to save our messy selves. Lessons are accompanied by the ugly sometimes, and I have never been more thankful for spilled hot chocolate.