The Bubble Mower

 Some time ago I was going through some old boxes and found an old photo of my son, Britain, when he was a little boy, pushing a plastic lawnmower that puffed out streams of bubbles with every step. It took me back to those days when I was a young dad, mowing the yard under the hot Texas sun, my little boy watching from the house, eyes wide with fascination. He wanted so badly to join me, to be part of the action.

So, one day, I went to Walmart and bought him a bubble mower. Every Saturday after that, we’d head out together—me with the gas powered mower, him trailing behind with his plastic toy mower, bubbles and grass clippings swirling together in the air. His mower didn’t cut a single blade of grass. It just made bubbles. But to him, we were working together.

When the lawn was even and we’d worked up a thirst, we’d head inside, sweaty and tired, and pour ourselves glasses of iced tea. We’d sit at the table, clinking our glasses together, grinning like we’d just conquered the world. “We mowed the lawn, didn’t we, buddy?” I’d say. He’d beam, nodding proudly. When his mom, Traci, came out, we’d brag about our work—how we got the edges just right, how the yard looked perfect. His smile would stretch ear to ear, and my heart would swell. There’s nothing like spending time with my son.

One day, as I looked at him, I felt the Lord speak to me, kind and clear. “You do realize that’s you and me, right?” This was a shot to the ego because we had been in the sweet spot of buying land, building a church, a watching it grow. I was getting all kinds of recognition from our denomination and was constants reminded that we were being watched with great delight. It felt good. We had new people coming and many were giving their lives to Jesus and encountering the Holy Spirit. Lives were being impacted, and we were effective. It felt really good. But pride is a sneaky monster, and God won’t leave that unconfronted. 

He said. “You’re out there, pushing your bubble mower, thinking you’re doing big things for My kingdom. And that’s okay—I love that you try, and I love being with you. But I’m the one doing this work. You’re just blowing bubbles, and I  am delighted to make you look like a genius.”

It hit me hard, but it was so gentle. God lets us sweat and strive, lets us feel the weight of the work, and then He celebrates us, saying, “Well done. We cut the grass, didn’t we?” And I smile, knowing I’m just pushing the bubble mower, but He makes it matter. He makes it beautiful. And in those moments, sitting with my son, drinking iced tea, and I see it: the joy isn’t in what we accomplish, but in doing it together—Him and me, me and my boy, all of us covered in bubbles, grass, sweat, and grace.

His incredible grace and the furious love of God is the foundation of your identity and the fuel for your life. First Corinthians 13 is not just a description of love but a revelation of who God is and who you are becoming. As you behold Him, you are transformed, reflecting His patience, kindness, and endurance. This transformation is not about self-discipline but about surrender, allowing Christ in you, the hope of glory, to take the lead (Colossians 1:27).

God’s love is transformative because it is unconditional. He does not love you based on your performance but because you are His. This love casts out fear (1 John 4:18), frees you from shame, and empowers you to live boldly. When you know you are loved, you can love others without reservation, becoming a vessel of God’s grace in a broken world.

As you embrace this love, you’ll find that it changes everything. It reshapes your perspective, heals your wounds, and empowers you to live out your identity. You are not defined by your past, your mistakes, or the lies you’ve believed. You are defined by the love of God, a love that never fails and always endures. It’s bigger, faster, stronger, and more powerful than every lie you or anyone has ever believed about you.