This year I have I fought my way through the grieving process. I have grieved for the unjustness of Maj’s history. I have grieved the loss of a close friend and family friend. Most often, I have grieved my inexplicable infertility. And I feel like a pouty princess.

After working on clearing up some confusion between close friends of ours this weekend and a teaching on letting your sin become your identity this past Sunday, here’s what I think:

I have let my issues with infertility define me. Often. A lot.

And, in the spirit of confession/being honest about your junk, I am sorry. I need to apologize, even if it is lame and over a blog and FB. I apologize to the friends I have distanced myself from while I have been learning the difference between grieving and pouting. I apologize for being a grown up baby and throwing a fit I didn’t get my way. Mostly however, I apologize for being a follower of Jesus and portraying Jesus as… a big pouty baby. The Jesus I know is not:

*focused on our definition of fairness

He is forgiving and thankful and loving and selfless and guides me gently into realizing that I messed up so I can work on fixing it and deal with more pressing matters… not involving myself. STILL isn’t all about me. Yeah… still not.

So as we approach the time of year when we celebrate the 8-pound, 6-ounce, newborn infant Jesus (“don’t even know a word yet, just a little infant and so cuddly, but still omnipotent”) and I try and work out what it means to be disappointed and deal with it, please know that Jesus is worth celebrating, even if his followers screw up in showing that. Don’t mix Jesus up with Christians. Our failures aren’t indicative of his greatness.

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