Let me just tell y’all about how I lost my sanctification in 0.3 seconds yesterday.
And yes, it was before I had coffee.  Which might explain a lot of what you're about to read.

It was a regular Wednesday morning.
Except it wasn't. 

My toddler was finally heading back to daycare after two plus long weeks with his dad. 
I'm feeling:
-slightly ahead of schedule (miracle)
-slightly put-together (rare)
-and deeply excited (rare-er)

Now, this isn't just any babysitter, keep in mind! —NO! This is my girl! My church friend. My "has caught me mid-worship cry" friend.

OKAY! Now that we've gotten that out of the way... my toddler hadn't seen his babysitter in a while AND BONUS — she and her family had just moved into their new house.

So, naturally, I left early.  Partly because it was further away now...and partly because I was dying to snoop—I mean, see—the answered prayer that is her new home.

We arrive. 

I'm already feeling like I deserve a gold star.  I'm dressed.  The toddler's dressed.  I didn't forget anything. I'm early.
The Lord is good.

Her house? stunning!!!

Spacious rooms.  Heavenly backyard.  I mean really—The grass looks like Psalm 23’s green pastures.

AND the kind of kitchen that makes you want to pretend you actually meal prep.

She invites me in to admire the vintage mid-century oven. And as two church girls who know our way around a crockpot and a casserole, we’re geeking out.

We’re admiring this retro oven like it’s the eighth wonder of the world.
The ticking clock still works. The chrome glistens. (Actual glorious oven, pictured above.  Compliments of my friend!)
We’re mid-conversation about how we both wish it was just a little bit bigger—

So naturally, I lean in for a closer look.
Because I, too, am a woman of kitchen-based opinions...

AND THAT'S WHEN IT HAPPENED!

What I don’t see is the large, unholy, cardboard container sitting directly in front of me on the floor. Because, you know, they just moved in. Boxes are everywhere. Jesus is probably watching like “Girl. Don’t do it.”

But I do it.
I step forward.
I smack my shin on this box like it owes me money.

Now let me remind you:
I had not had coffee yet.
Not even a whiff.
My soul was still booting up...

So when the pain hit and my brain tried to buffer a response, it didn’t choose “Oh heavens!” or “Praise be!”

NOPE!

It chose to come out of the depths of my soul—not even from my throat but like... from my SPIRIT—

“...F***!"

YUP.
That one.
The full-grown, uncensored version.

Y’all.

Not a whisper.
Yes, a mutter... but not the kind of mutter you could pretend was a sneeze.
It was clear. crisp. and so spiritually inappropriate.

The kind of mutter that was just loud enough for my CHURCH FRIEND—holding her chubby cherub of a 1-year-old—to hear in all its glory.

Time stopped.
My eyeballs got big.

My soul left my body.

...She looks at me. I look at her. My brain is already sprinting through repentance.

And what do I say?
“OH MY GOSH. I—I DON’T EVEN USUALLY SAY THAT.”
(Which is kind of true. But also... not totally true.)

She laughed. Thank GOD she laughed, and says—

“Girl, I am not judging you.”
I, on the other hand, started spiraling. Apologizing. Tripping over my words worse than I tripped over that box and say something dumb like:
“Welp, at least now you know I’m human, normal, not perfect, of course."
We laughed and moved on.

And that right there? That was holy.

Because you know what?
That moment, as mortifying as it felt, wasn’t about a word.
It was about grace.

It was about realizing that God never asked us to be flawless. He asked us to be real.

He doesn’t need your perfection.
He wants your honesty.
He wants your recovery.
And real people?
They sometimes smack their shin and say things that don’t belong in a hymn.

Real people trip up. Literally and spiritually.
But what matters isn’t the fall—it’s what you do after.

I could’ve spent the rest of the day drowning in guilt.
But instead, I chose to laugh, to confess, and to remind myself that even Peter cussed a little while denying Jesus.
(OKAY, OKAY— NOT "CURSE" IN THE SAME WAY BUUUUT he still got to build the church after. Just saying.)

Jesus didn’t flinch when I said that word.
He just leaned in closer and whispered,

“That’s why you need Me, kid.”

SO, here’s your takeaway for today, from one Holy Hot Mess to another:

A) Your slip-up doesn’t disqualify your calling.
B) Your humanness isn’t a hindrance to God—it’s a reminder that you NEED Him.
C) And your shin will recover. Your soul already has.

So, if you’re out here trying your best, and every now and then you step on a Lego or stub your toe on life and say a word not found in Leviticus... just remember:

God heard it.
He also heard your heart.
And He’s still not going anywhere.

Now go forth. Be real. Be redeemed.
And for the love of your shin... watch for boxes.