Was Jesus Ever Bored?

So... I've been sinning. Regularly. Without pause. Almost without a break. But it was such a nice sin. It didn't come out as black, evil, horrible nastiness.


I tamed my sin and packaged it in comfort.

It took on the guise of Netflix, sweatpants, and lots of frozen foods for supper.

Because here's the deal, I kind of thought this two kid thing was going to be more exciting. Everyone told me: "Just you wait! You won't know what to do with yourself. You'll go crazy. You won't have a chance to rest!"

I'm not really sure how they're parenting, but I should probably go take lessons.

I, for one, am frequently bored. Not even joking. I mean, sure, there are lots of diapers to change, meal time is a test in my ambidextrous feeding skills, and bath time is a constant fear-fest of "Which one is going under this time?!" (I feel obligated to state: Neither of my children has come  even close to drowning.)

But in between these crazy moments there is a lot of down time. My house is quiet. Babies play in puddles of sunshine. We read the occasional book. We play with shaving cream and corn starch and there is the ever-faithful nap time. On top of this, my age-old health issues have flared up, and so we're not going anywhere or seeing many people.

It's not incredibly busy.

So, instead of using this wealth of quiet time (it's really quiet, and the absence of adult conversation has me using words from my Victorian classics: plebeian, indubitably, aspersion, inveterate, remonstrance... This is not normal.), but instead of using this time to read, absorb truth, pour said truth into my children, help my husband, (fill in the blank with profitable pursuits), instead... I chose to be bored.

Flopped across our couch, I moaned about my boredom... my house was covered in a thin layer of dust, breakfast crumbs were still under the table, and I hadn't applied make-up or changed out of sweatpants in 3 days.

My faithful hubby patted my head, made me a cup of tea, and then asked me... "Was Jesus ever bored?"

Shoot. I hate when he's spot on with his shepherding/leading part of our relationship.

But I began to think...The God of the universe. He knew every one's thoughts, feelings, and emotions. He knew how everything worked, forget the advances of the day--he had created all things, so he knew about photosynthesis, electricity, and the solar system. Nothing was unknown. He knew everything that was going to happen, there was no "I wonder if..." If anyone was set up to be "bored" it was our Savior.

But somehow, linking boredom to a Savior doesn't sit right... it niggles. You can't see Jesus sitting with his arms crossed, a bored expression flitting across his face, a general detachment from everyone around him. A sigh of exasperation. A wasted moment. A whine to his mom, "There's nothing to do!"

Yeah, chances are, our Savior was not bored.

Whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked.
— I John 2:6

So is it okay for me to be bored?

No. It doesn't look like it's okay

For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.
— Galatians 3:27

Chances are, if I'm bored in this stage of life, I'll be bored in every stage. And it's more an indication of my heart than it is an indicator of my surroundings.

So, I prayed.

In the middle of Aldi. Right next to the discounted pork chops and the huge stack of salt and vinegar chips that I had just said, "no" to. (I love these chips. Love. Passionately. Crave. Insatiably.)

But I stopped. I put up my arms and I prayed out loud (I'm the crazy person you always see in the grocery store. Obviously.) But I knew there was a huge rift, carefully built by a series of lazy days, between me and my Savior. And I wasn't getting in my car and driving until I had healed our relationship. I didn't want to be steam-rolled by some dump truck still carrying a pile of crap I hadn't confessed. (Yes, Mom. I used the word "crap." Sorry. But that's kind of what it was...)

Then I went home. I unloaded my groceries. Walked into my kitchen, and grabbed my honey by his flannel shirt. I confessed it. My laziness. My apathy. My failure to imitate my Savior. My willingness to coast by with "barely-there" parenting and wife-ing.

He, imitating his Savior before him, forgave me.

And it's a glorious feeling.

I know I'll still fight boredom. I'll still want to watch Netflix instead of clean my bathroom (I'm sorry, but who on earth would rather clean a bathroom?) But God has given me this quiet, this peace, this time of relative relational ease for a reason.

And I'm not going to waste it.

Because I'm convinced my Savior didn't waste a moment of his 32 years.