I love it when my family gets in a fight on the way to Sunday church.

I love it because it reminds me of my brokenness.

I love it because it humbles me, exactly¬†in the place where there used to be pride that I couldn’t even see!

I love it because it invites me back into the repentance (turning away from self & turning toward God) rhythms that are absolute necessity for my life with God.

I love it because it jolts me out of going through the motions of church.

I love it because it reminds me that I’m not alone – pre-church fights are as common in families as stubbed toes and dirty dishes.

I love it because it makes the prayers, the songs, the words of church sink more deeply into my heart.

I love it because usually I have to say, “I’m sorry” to one or all of my kids, and if anything is good for the soul in the way of Jesus, it is that.

I love it because I feel God’s grace when I arrive at the building and my pastor, my friends, my community¬†are still glad to see me.

I love it because it makes me laugh, albeit self-deprecatingly, at how put-together we all look on the outside while on the inside there is much more putting-together for Jesus to do.

I love it because it reminds me that I’m no spiritual¬†hero of the faith – I am always,¬†still, mostly just¬†a spiritual child of God.

But wait. Actually, maybe I am a spiritual hero after all. Family fights that end with repentance and reconciled relationship? That sounds like exactly the stuff of spiritual heroes.

I love it because it gives me something real, something fresh, something with the¬†blood still throbbing in it to share with God during¬†church¬†‘confession time,’ rather than the vain searching of a sterile heart.

I love it because it keeps me from forgetting the truest thing about me: I need Jesus. Desperately.