Fix me, Jesus

There's a wonderful scene in the movie Joyful Noise, where the mother (played by Queen Latifah) sits at the piano in the darkened sanctuary of her church.

Up to this point, as the director of an up-and-coming gospel choir, she's been a bit of a know-it-all, big-mouthed, always telling people what to do, and it's starting to catch up with her. Her husband left, her children are resisting, even the choir is rebelling.

In her frustration and pain, eyes shut, she begins to sing, "fix me, Jesus."

Not the man. Not the kids. Not the mutinous singers, but fix me, Jesus.

The beauty and authenticity of her heart cry wrecks me, the words trickle into my bones. …

When my enemies would have my head on a platter and I want to vindicate myself with a thousand explanations … fix me, Jesus.

When my neighbor shares a story of familial devastation and pride in my intact home rears its nasty head … fix me, Jesus.

When I hear of a woman who lost her every belonging in Hurricane Katrina and silently thank God it didn't happen to us … fix me, Jesus.

When teenagers come hungry for encouragement and I turn the precious moment into an opportunity to lecture … fix me, Jesus.

When I keep accounts of wrongs done and hurts accrued … fix me, Jesus.

When vacation ends and I return to a house that isn't a thing like the ones on HGTV I'd been coveting while I was away … fix me, Jesus.

When another's motives are suspect and once again I fear I cannot trust … fix me, Jesus.

When children work hard and yet I blow up over one forgotten jot or tittle … fix me, Jesus.

When I am disappointed because a child's God-given passion for computers doesn't line up with my preconceived plans for him … fix me, Jesus.

When my expectations for the relationships in my life don't look a thing like the reality … fix me, Jesus.

When God seems far and I forget Israelite-style all His previous goodness … fix me, Jesus.

Fix me, Jesus.