Lately I’ve felt such a heavy weight of comparison. I see other mamas who seem to be more organized than me, more patient than me, more creative than me; hustling more than me. And honestly, I feel like I’m failing at all my roles. In my mind, I’m not wife-ing like I should, not mom-ing like I should, not blogging like I should, not running my Etsy shop like I should. And when I take it to Jesus, I feel angry. I’m mad that I’m not succeeding like I thought I should. I’m mad because I feel like he’s left me on my own. And really, I’m mad because it feels like He doesn’t care about my “success”. I feel like lately my tears and cries are falling on empty space. And then I woke up today. Good Friday.

Nothing miraculous changed. I still feel like I’m failing. I still feel like I’m not measuring up. But today, I decided to turn my heart to the cross. And you know what? My “successes” don’t really matter. Because my role as a mama is not to be perfect in every way, it’s not to succeed by cultural standards, it’s not to measure up. My role is to humbly submit my ways to the cross, to wake up each day relying on His grace and mercies, and to model this to my kids. On my own, I always fall short. But then, the cross. The grace overflowing that fills in all my gaps when I humbly let it. The forgiveness that was extended while I was still a sinner.

On Good Friday, Jesus gave up every measure of success. He humbled Himself to death on the cross, never once choosing to prove how “good” He was. And if we are to be like Him, we have to surrender our shortcomings to Him and watch Him faithfully renew us. Our kids don’t need a perfect mom, they need a humble mom who is willing to fall short by others standards in order to measure up to God’s standards.

Today, on Good Friday, with my gaze on the cross, I’m surrendering my discontent heart. And I’m trusting. That the work He did on the cross, the love and grace poured out, are abundantly more than this world could ever give me. I’m trusting that when He looks on me He sees His grace, not my failings. I’m trusting that my measures of success are not His and I’m trying to lay them at the cross. And I’m thanking Him. For loving me even when I don’t feel worthy. For loving me when I’m discontent. And for gently pulling my gaze back to His every time I falter.

Jesus didn’t call us to be perfect moms or perfect followers. He called us to be humble and grace-filled. And Good Friday reminds me that I can only do this with my eyes on Him and my heart tied to His word.