What to give your family for Christmas
I remember that 2010 Christmas so vividly.
I had gotten up early. Everything was ready. The baby Jesus doll was hidden. Gifts were wrapped. Cinnamon rolls were formed, rising, ready to bake.
My 4-year-old son was the first to rise. He shuffled downstairs, carrying his new Lightning McQueen car he’d received for his birthday just four days prior.
I bound over, excited. “Good morning, sweetie! Do you know what today is?”
He rubs his eyes, scrunches up his face. “Can I play with my toys?”
I continue: “It’s Christmas! Isn’t that exciting?! And now you get to look for baby Jesus!”
He runs over to the couch, hides his face in a pillow. “I don’t want to look! I want to play!”
“But … after we find baby Jesus we can open your presents!” My mind races. We’re supposed to be at my parents’ house at 10am. We still have to do baby Jesus, open gifts, and deliver hot cinnamon rolls to a family down the road.
My son starts to cry. “I don’t want to open presents! I just want to play with my toys.”
This is unbelievable. I shake my head. What child doesn’t want to open presents? Why is my family always the one where nothing goes right?
I promise him there are more toys to be had, and we finally get him to the tree. He opens a box, a gift sent from a relative. It’s a package of socks. His face falls. Now I’m irate. Really? Come on people, I’m trying to get my kid excited about Christmas and you gave him socks for crying out loud!
“Mommy, I don’t want socks I just want to play with my toys!” Now he’s crying and I’m on the verge.
Eventually we make it out the door. My dear husband, wanting to cheer me up, suggests we stop at Starbucks. He runs in while I stay in the car. It takes him another fifteen minutes because the line is so long. Seriously, people, it’s Christmas! Go home and be with your families! By now we’re an hour late and it shows on my face. I know I’m being ridiculous, but I’m on the verge of tears. Why am I so irrational? It’s Christmas!
Eventually, we made it to the family’s house to deliver the cinnamon rolls. We’d been doing the Twelve Days of Christmas and it was our day to reveal ourselves. Their whole family came out on the porch, all hugs and laughter and genuine joy. I noticed they were all still in jammies. I asked about their day, what their plans are, still struck by how happy they all were.
The mom smiled and responded, “Oh we just relax, stay in our jammies all day. We play games or do something fun. You know, whatever.”
Whatever.
Aha. That’s what I was missing.
The gift of whatever.
When we give our family our expectations, everybody loses. We wrap up our ideals, our dreams of the “perfect” day, and then expect them to perform according to our plan. When they don’t, we’re frustrated. All in the name of the most wonderful time of the year.
What if, instead of giving expectations, we gave the gift of whatever. If we decided that whatever happened on a holiday, we’d be happy and thankful. That the only expectations we had were for ourselves, expecting ourselves to be kind. Expecting ourselves to be gracious.
Expecting ourselves to be willing to go with whatever.
Remember, the gift of Christmas has already been given. It’s Jesus! We don’t need anything else! So give whatever!
This gift of whatever might be just what our families need.
A fun, flexible holiday where the only thing that’s set in stone is the certainty of joy.
~
{I have to laugh at myself back then–I was so ridiculous! But we all do it, don’t we? Wrap holidays up in lofty expectations? I pray this Christmas you just get lost in the wonder of how good God is, who sent His Son into the world–The Gift for us. In the midst of presents and food and fun (all wonderful things!) we would SLOW and quiet our hearts and ENJOY a day centered on Christ. Here’s to a Merry, Merry Christmas. Thanks for reading!}
Nine.
Dear Dutch,
You are nine. I can barely believe it. As I type these words I look across the room at you, you curled up next to Papa, reading the Sunday comics while he naps. It seems like yesterday he was holding you, sitting in that same chair–you just a few weeks old, all snuggled up in blue and all of us just sitting staring at you for hours. You were a wonderment from the day you were born.
Each year, I’ve written you a letter. I wrote about Entering Eight, and how you have always been Thursday’s Child, in the best way. You are My Own Christmas Boy, due on Christmas Day. I remember being round and ready to give birth, identifying so much with Mary’s eager and anxious expectation of meeting her special son. I asked the Father if He’d be so kind to bring you on the 21st, a few days early so I could be home for Christmas. It was a silly request, but He did it.
You came the 21st, His gift to me that day and every day since then.
Even way back when I wrote You are Three and You Are Four, I knew there was something unique about you, son. Even at 2-years-old, when I wrote Happy Birthday Dear Son, I think I somehow sensed the days ahead would be full. Challenging and glorious all at once. Honestly, when I typed out My Son Turns One I was just happy that we’d both survived that first year. It was touch and go a few times. 😉
But this year, as I re-read all these letters, I realized I’ve spent a lot of time focusing on our challenges. Yes, I’ve cried a lot. Yes, we have difficult days. Yes, your uniqueness can bring me to my knees sometimes.
But I would not change you, Dutch.
I wouldn’t change you in a million years. So this year, instead of apologizing for all my faults and failures this year, instead of lamenting over how challenging some days can be. Let me just tell you how I love you just the way you are.
I love the Dutch you are!
I love the way you deeply identify with animals. How you sometimes think you are one. 😉 How you are fascinated by the animal world and thrive on learning everything you can about them.
I love your smile. Oh! Your smile! It can light my world like nothing else. Your wide grin that I can rarely catch on camera, it’s pure magic! Remember son, what I always say, “People will be overlook a lot of your quirks if you just remember to smile!” 😉
I love how you rise to the occasion. Though sometimes paralyzed by fear and overwhelmed by anxiety, you have an incredible ability to rise up at the last moment to conquer. I was SO PROUD OF YOU at this race, when you cried the entire night before, the entire way there, all the way up til race time, because you didn’t want to do it. But then, at the very last second, you grabbed Daddy’s hand, “Let’s go!” And you ran like the wind! The first kid to finish! I was so proud of you, son. I’ve seen you do that at least a dozen times this year, in different ways. Everyone has fears, but champions overcome them. You are a champion, son.
I love your celebratory joy. This was when you finished 2nd grade; another example of you overcoming such challenges, and experiencing the joy of victory.
I love your passion for nature. I love when you say, “Mommy, do you want to sit in our special spot?” And we slide onto the railing on the front porch and dangle our legs over the edge. I love how you always ask, “What’s your favorite green right now?” And we point to all the different sorts of green we see in nature. I snapped this pic of us in our special spot so I will always remember. You have such a profound love and understanding of creation. It inspires me.
I love that you care nothing for conventions and everything for special items. When I was about to toss our old dining room table, you begged for us to keep it … in your bedroom. And I love how you lit up when I said yes and arranged your room so it would fit. And now I love how there are at least a hundred books on top of that table now. (Better there than on the floor!) 😉
I love you in this hat! Oh how you fell in love with this hat at the thrift store in Phoenix. And how you wear it every time we go outside. It is SO YOU, practically turning you into a wild cat. 🙂
I love how you JOKE! You are such the jokester! Your riddles are hilarious, and you so often have daddy and me rolling in laughter. I love this, when you hid in the laundry basket and scared me out of my mind! I love how you hide under our covers, way down at the bottom, and scare us when we slide into bed. You are too much, son! I love your sense of humor.
I love that you often truly believe you are an animal. Ok, it can make me crazy sometimes, but I know I’ll look back with fondness on you literally climbing the walls with your tail hanging down!
And probably most of all, I love how you love Daddy. More than anything else in the world, what makes me happiest of all, is to see the amazing relationship you have with your daddy. I know this will be the foundation of your relationship with the Father, and it makes my heart soar to see the two of you constantly palling around. I see how proud you are of daddy when he’s preaching or running. Your daddy is a godly, courageous, humble, and extremely hard-working man, Dutch. You stick with him and listen carefully to his words, and you’ll go far.
Precious son, welcome to nine.
I’m so excited to journey into another year together.
I love you.
Love,
Mommy
Habits for the Holidays
You may have noticed there’s a one-word banner I’m waving these days: Habits.
The word probably doesn’t kindle a fire of passion or enthusiasm in your soul.
Yet.
Though you may not come alive when you hear the word habits, I will tell you this one-word anthem is revolutionizing our homeschool like nothing else has in a long time. Read more at Simple Homeschool (but the power of habits doesn’t just apply to homeschooling!)
For hearts that ache for kids
“Mommy?” You whisper into the darkness. “Can I have a rock?”
It’s the middle of the night and it takes me a moment to realize what you mean.
I smile. “Of course.”
I pull back the covers, slide out of bed, creep across the room in the dark. Out in the hallway, I don’t see you, but I peek into Heidi’s room and there you are, arms full of snuggly animals, standing beside the rocking chair, waiting for me.
I slide back into the cool, hard, chair. It creaks loudly as I pull you onto my lap and ease back. You barely fit now, tall and lanky and almost 9-years-old. Your long legs hang off the side, your head rests up on my shoulder. I try to wrap an arm under you but can’t reach, so I just bear-hug you around the middle and lean down so my cheek rests against yours, so I can breathe your breath.
I close my eyes and can’t believe I’m rocking you. You! Almost exactly 8 years earlier, you weren’t even one, and oh! you wouldn’t sleep. I tried every trick. You wouldn’t sleep. And so I tried to rock you. Desperately I tried to rock you. I held you tight, leaning back and forth in that chair, praying you’d sleep. And you fought it. Screamed. Cried and cried and cried and cried for nearly an hour until we were both drenched with sweat and tears and … I gave up. And you just stared at me, and I felt so lost and whispered to God, “Help us.”
So many times, that prayer, through these years.
And tonight I’d whispered that same prayer to the Father. Just seconds before you slipped into my room, I’d been lying awake, unable to sleep, praying, thinking of you. Tears, too, had slipped down my cheeks as I consider 9-years-old and all that’s changing and unknown and silly things like Will you ever be able to tie your shoes or light a match?
Will you make friends? Get married? Be a good father? Thrive?
What will you say, someday, when you look back on your childhood?
Will you love the Lord when you are 20, 50, 80?
We keep rocking. The chair is loud and creaky and you’re whispering to me how you like the sound, “It’s like a radio.” And we keep rocking, and I think how I would never have dreamed back then, when you were screaming at 11-months-old, that you’d be this walking documentary boy, an absolute wonderment. And I silently thank God again and again for this moment, that you want me to rock you, and how precious this is and into the darkness you whisper:
“Mommy?”
“Yes, love?”
“Your titanium scissors surely aren’t make of titanium. They are just steel. Titanium is used more in name than actual substance. People just like to think things are made of titanium.”
I don’t own titanium scissors, but I smile. I love you, son.
Eventually we tiptoe past sleeping sister and back to your room.
“Will you snuggle me?”
“Of course.” I slide in next to you and pull the down comforter up, around us, under our chins.
“I can’t believe they use tiger and lion bones in Chinese medicine.”
I smile and touch your cheek.
And in a few seconds, you’re asleep. I watch you for a bit, and commit all my questions to the Only One who holds us in the palm of His hand.
Your Father and mine.
I love you, son.
{For hearts that ache for kids, for prayers and sleepless nights. We serve a God who knows and hears and answers. Thanks for reading.}
What a wise woman builds…
This week I re-read Proverbs 14 and was struck again by the power of this verse:
A wise woman builds her house, but a foolish woman tears it down with her own hands.
Prov. 14:1
When I was 10-years-old my family built a house. My dad did the building, but we all contributed. I carried 2×4′s and swept up messes and my brother drove nails and my mom did whatever Dad asked. I can still picture my mom holding up plywood while Dad shot it full of nails. (I also remember, on a freezing cold morning, when he nail-gunned his hand to the plywood. That was a day.)
But my mom was always there holding something up.
Can you imagine if she’d been doing the opposite? If she’d been walking around the house tearing down fixtures or taking a sledgehammer to whatever work Dad had just finished. Or now, can you imagine if I walked around our house with a baseball bat smashing windows and knocking over furniture?
A wise woman builds her house.
It doesn’t say “A wise woman builds her business” Or “a wise woman builds her church” or “a wise woman builds her friendship-base” or “a wise woman builds her blog.” All those things are wonderful, but our first order of business, ladies, is building up our house.
There’s a reason God’s put this verse on my heart.
Because I need to be reminded.
Why is there such a constant temptation to build up everything except our homes? Perhaps because our homes are so mundane, so ordinary. The home is a humble kingdom, to be sure. It needs a queen who is small in her own eyes.
So if the woman’s not building, what is she doing?
Tearing down. How? With her own hands.
How sobering is this? Woman, we have so much power. The words we speak, the attitude we embody, the choices me make a thousands times a day. Everything we do is either building up or tearing down our house. With our own hands.
Am I creating order and beauty or chaos and confusion? Am I building up or tearing down?
A simple question to return to each day: Does this activity benefit my home and the people who live in it?
There are myriad reasons why houses fall apart. But this verse highlights the most important factor:
Our hands. We can blame society, peer pressure, culture and bad TV. But our hands are what build up or tear down our homes. Our words, our attitudes, the work we do each day. So the question for us:
What are my own hands doing today? Am I building up or tearing down?
{Come what may, let’s commit to building up our homes. Amen? Thanks for reading.}
Habits: The Mother’s Secret to Success
I was a bit in awe as I wandered through her house, admiring artistic evidence of order, creativity, educational excellence. I silently read through their simple schedule, written on the wall. I noted the chores, the tidy spaces, the books stacked. Of course I know people clean before guests come, but there was nothing fake about this. It wasn’t pretentious or Pinteresty, just a simple picture of an ordered, lovely life.
Not a word was needed, immediately I knew what was missing, why I was feeling so hopelessly overwhelmed, so unmotivated and lethargic.
I laid it out for her, plain and simple, and asked for help: We needed structure, we need purpose. The go-with-the-flow thing is great on the days when everything’s falling into place, when I’m energized and happy and feeling creative and spontaneous. But what about the other 359 days of the year? I feel like I’m a slave to whim and feelings, I feel like our days are too aimless, I find myself bouncing from thing to thing, based on the kids’ passing fancy. I need a renewed passion and purpose for disciplining, nurturing, and educating our kids.
She listened thoughtfully.
“Have you read anything by Charlotte Mason?”
I was embarrassed to admit I had not. There are so many educational methods out there, it all makes my head spin and the last thing I wanted was another book telling me to scrap everything and go a whole new way. But I was ready to read anything, especially after seeing my friend’s infectious joy and experiencing the peace of her ordered, lovely home. She encouraged me to just pick one, and give it a shot. She assured me that I was probably doing “Charlotte Mason” I just didn’t know it. We already spend tons of time outside and read a lot of books. This wasn’t going to be anything entirely new or foreign. It just might give me some inspiration.
Since I’m hopelessly frugal, I skimmed through the Charlotte Mason materials on Amazon until I found a 99-cent volume simply called, Habits.
Okay. Habits. Here we go.
Well within minutes I was reading aloud to Jeff, interjecting, “YES! Yes, this is IT! This is what I’ve been missing. THIS is why I’ve felt hopeless. YES!”
Put quite simply: Life is overwhelming. Homeschooling is overwhelming. Parenting is overwhelming. The Christian life is overwhelming. There are so many options, things to do, things to read, places to go, people to see. My phone’s blowing up with notifications and there’s a bazillion things I should be doing right now, and quite frankly I’m not doing very well at anything, I’m not very good at anything, and neither are my kids and so let’s just QUIT.
*sigh*
Of course I wouldn’t have said that, but there was a bit of that in my heart. Just overwhelm. But Charlotte Mason’s words from the 1800s cut through the cacophony of this crazy culture (and my crazy mind!) and flowed like a soothing balm for my harried soul. She spoke such wisdom, straight to my heart.
My overwhelm came from decision-fatigue. Where we have poor habits, we are forcing our minds to constantly re-decide something. This haphazard, undisciplined mind is exhausted. So many options. So much to do. So little discipline. So few good habits. Where to begin?
Focus. Focus on one and only one habit (virtue) for 4-6 weeks and master that one thing. Reward for character and conduct, not cleverness. Except exact and immediate obedience in the one habit and work tirelessly on that area until it is mastered.
By the time I finished the short volume, I had a clear vision of what we needed. I could see where I’d been lax, I could see what virtues and character qualities we’d failed to live out and failed to instill in our kids. It was painfully obvious but profoundly encouraging, because I felt for the first time in ages, that there was hope. I had a plan, a purpose, a passion and vision for my children, our home, my writing life and homeschool life. I could see how these habits would touch every bit of life because everything’s connected.
I had so much fun dreaming up ideas, plans, and ways to reinforce our new simple habits. I wrote little songs for the kids to help them remember important things. They were thrilled because I cut out everything unnecessary in order to focus in on just a few crucial things. The result was, instead of feeling mildly disappointed by them because I was expecting many different things but not really reinforcing any of them, I was only expecting a few things and was enthusiastically enforcing them every single time. This meant I was basically happy with them way more often. Hooray!
So I share this not as an “I’ve arrived” thing, I think you probably understand that. But I share this because at about 2 1/2 weeks in, it has profoundly affected our days, it’s given me fresh hope and purpose, it’s helped us tackle things that have felt overwhelming for months. It’s brought new joy into our home, and it’s brought back the joy and zeal for life I’d been lacking recently.
Habits. Who knew? The tiny decisions, made faithfully over and over and over (and over and over) — this is what transforms our lives. And now, if you’ll excuse me, my writing time is over (one of my new habits!) so I’m off to read aloud to my kids. 😉
{Thank you for reading.}
Special.
“Now I can’t do my S!”
Tears filled her eyes as she dropped her pencil, defeated. “SEE?!” She held up her spelling workbook. I could see the spot–she had erased a hole right in the page, trying to get her s just right.
Now the page was ruined, hope lost.
Now, let’s just get an accurate picture here: Her handwriting is beautiful, she’s only 6 years old, and we were attempting to do homeschooling while crossing the Mohave desert, so the bumpy ride made perfect penmanship virtually impossible.
But that wasn’t the point. I simply wanted her to practice her spelling. Part of the blessing of homeschooling is we can travel anytime, but it also means we might do workbooks in the car.
Her attitude had been great. I was pleased. She was working hard.
I was happy!
But she was in tears.
I calmed her down and looked into her eyes: “Sweetie, who is your teacher?”
“You.”
“Who decides if you’re doing a great job or not?”
“You.”
“And I am saying, you are doing a great job! I’m proud of you. Your s’s look great. You’re working hard. I know it’s bumpy so they won’t look perfect, but I’m so happy with you. I love you. Can you just know that I’m happy and I love you? Can that be enough?”
Whoa.
These were the exact words I’d heard from my own Parent that morning.
A friend had shared the word, “Surrender” with me. I wasn’t sure exactly what it meant. It didn’t seem there was anything I was clinging onto. In fact, quite the opposite! I was ready to quit everything! 🙂 But I spent a day just ruminating on that word, asking the Father to show me where or how He wanted me to further surrender. A whole day went by, nothing came to mind.
But the next morning, early, in that way that only He can, by His loving Spirit, the Father showed me this:
“Surrender being the best.”
What?! At first it didn’t make sense. Um… I’m not the best. At anything. I never have been. I’m a mediocre writer, a mediocre mom, a mediocre wife … shall we keep the list going? I already felt discouraged and unmotivated, so why this word about surrendering to being the best?
Maybe the Spirit had visited the wrong house, surely God had meant this word for someone else, someone more … special?
And then, that word. Special. Why oh why were there tears slipping down my cheeks when I whispered that word into the dark silence? Special.
I could hardly speak it, the words came from so deep: “I just want to be … special.”
So that was it. That was what needed to be surrendered. That’s why I was so discouraged.
It was nothing huge, just the selfish sorrow of being hopelessly mediocre.
I closed my eyes, tears streaming now, down my cheeks, and just then I hear it:
“Can you just know that I love you? Can that be enough?”
And at the same time I hear her soft pitter-patter footsteps. She came, clutching her stuffed animal and blinking her sleepy eyes, and wordlessly crawled up into my lap. I laid aside my Bible, my journal, and gathered her close, inhaling her amazing morning smell, kissing her cheeks.
“Oh, babygirl, you are so special.”
Of course. I am absolutely intoxicated with love for my kids. It is impossible to even begin to describe the love I have for them. I can look at pictures of them all day, I could hold them forever, I would do anything for them.
They are so unspeakably special to me.
Not because her handwriting is perfect.
Not because he knows a lot of facts.
Not because they run fast or are good at math.
They are my children. That is why each of them is special. How it would break my heart to see them try to earn special.
They don’t need to earn special.
They are special. They are special because they’re my children. She could erase holes in her workbook page every day of the year for the rest of her life and she’d never stop being special to me. Sure, I might work to correct her excessive-erasing habit. 🙂
But she doesn’t need to earn special. She is special.
He speaks this to us too, His kids.
You don’t have to earn special. You are.
Maybe this is for one of you today as well: “Can you just know that I love you. Can that be enough?”
{Praying you know you are special to Your Father. Thank you for reading}
The Toothbrush {A Priceless Parenting Tip}
I packed in a hurry–distractedly grabbing Heidi’s toothbrush from the drawer and Dutch’s from off the counter. I’d just gotten him a new one, blue so I could remember it was his.
Once at the beach house, I unpacked the toiletries, and called the kids in to brush their teeth. Heidi grabbed her pink-dotted one, and Dutch grabbed his blue one.
They squeezed a dot of paste and began brushing away. Heidi glanced over at Dutch: “Ummm, that’s the toothbrush from beneath the sink, the one Mommy uses for cleaning the bathroom.”
I interrupted her: “Oh, Heidi, please don’t tease. No it’s not. That’s his new one. I packed it myself.” She quieted. They finished brushing.
A few days later, when we arrived back home, I unpacked the toiletries again and asked the kids to brush. Dutch grabbed the same blue brush from the toiletry bag, then opened the drawer:
Dutch: “Oh, my toothbrush is here in the drawer.”
Heidi: “Yeah, I told you — that one you’ve been using is the bathroom cleaner one from beneath the sink.”
Me: “No Heidi, I packed it — it was on the counter. I never leave it on the counter, it’s always down beneath the sink.”
Heidi: “I know but I used it to clean out a mess in the sink right before our trip and I must have left it on the counter. I’m sorry.”
#mommyfail
~
Parenting Tip: Clearly distinguish between your toilet-cleaning toothbrushes and your children’s toothbrushes.
{Happy brushing! 😉 Thanks for reading.}
Not what you had in mind …
I really just wanted to get out of the house … alone.
It was a great day, really. No complaints. But those littles woke up (why?!) at 6am and we’d been going strong for more than 10 hours and this Mama Just. Needed. A. Break. The library had a book I’d put on hold for Dutch, so I schemed up a secret slipping out the door and brisk 2 mile walk there and back. It’d be so quick they wouldn’t even miss me. Jeff came home, privy to my plan.
“Where are you going????!!!” Eagle-Eye Heidi calls out from the top of the stairs as I tiptoe toward the door. She is practically attached to me, you know.
“I’m just going to walk to the library super fast to get a book for Dutch, I’ll be back before you know it.” I smile wide, reassuring.
“I want to go WITH you!” Of course you do, child.
Jeff urges her back but I’m already resigned. It’s fine. Sure.
“Go put on your shoes!”
Of course this means finding adequate shoes for such a hike, after a long summer where all we wore were flip flops. They surface. Now we need socks. We find socks. Tug on over her clammy kid-feet. Shoes are somehow shoved on (Note to self: we need the next size up!). Laces tied. She stands …
“There’s a BUMP in my sock. Can you please fix it?!”
I close my eyes. Really? Off go the shoes. Off go the socks. Said bump isn’t found but she’s satisfied with my search. Shoes go back on. As I fiddle with her laces ..
“Mommy can I come too? I can’t WAIT to see my book!” Dutch has bounded down the stairs, is already digging for his shoes, eyes all light.
Jeff trails down the stairs, eyes apologizing. “Guys, Mommy needs some time …”
“It’s ok,” I interrupt, “Really. Let’s do it. Family walk.”
Dutch’s shoes are equally small and impossible. Finally we are all shod. Twenty-five minutes have past. I would have been back by now.
But then … we open the door, and I step into life.
I step into this life. This is the one I have and this is the one I will rejoice in. There will be year–years–for long walks alone. Too many years of it, probably.
So we skip. We bound. We race and feels our hearts beating and rest while watching garden spiders eat their evening meal. We smile and wave at people on porches and Heidi asked approximately 8,000 questions.
And after books are tucked under our arms, we walk–slower now–back. The hill seems steeper than before so the kids make a special request: “Can we stop at those benches and read?!”
So we do. And traffic blurs by while kids fall forwards into fiction worlds, pages turn, lost in imagination, while Jeff and I fraternize from opposite park benches facing each other, and I don’t know how long past but finally we rose to finish the journey home.
Then it started pouring rain.
And so, for the last half-mile, kids mounted high on our backs, we run, gasping for air up the last few hills, and laughing that of course it’s raining now. We arrive, exhausted and overflowing all at once.
This walk was not what I had in mind … but so much better.
That’s life right? This, whatever this is for you, is not what you had in mind … but so much better.
So much more exhausting and exhilarating. So much more challenging and rewarding. So much harder and so much sweeter.
It’s not what you had in mind … but so much better.
{For whatever walks you take this week. Thanks for reading.}
*Originally shared September, 2014
When life hands you the too-big fork
{It is my joy to revisit these life-giving words from my life-long friend Janae…}
~
When I was new to dirty diapers, sleepless nights and wailing cries, the mundane felt lonely & the sacred empty.
The tasks filled my days, but not my heart. The days were slow & lonely.
At the end of those long & exhausting days, I would collapse in bed & stare at my Bible. My big fat, heavy red Bible. The cover was held together with duct tape. The pages were highlighted, underlined, scribbled on.
But as I stared at the words, they felt dull & distant. I was just too tired.
Frustrated, I’d close my Bible, close my eyes & drift into sweet slumber.
Days slipped by, more babies came.
Now, more than 8 years later, as a mommy of 5, my mundane is sacred & my sacred life-giving simply because of God’s grace.
All those times when I felt too tired, God was not tired. Those scriptures that seemed to be slipping through my weary mind, had been penetrating my heart & changing my spirit so slowly I didn’t even realize it. As I have learned to submit to endless & mundane tasks, my heart has transformed; softened–grown in compassion, patience & humility.
He took me by the hand & taught me how to serve with joy. How to pray while sorting laundry or doing the dishes. How to hear his voice in the midst of all the ruckus. How to read His word in small spaces of time & let it sink in deep.
On a daily basis my sacred mundane sometimes looks like a big crazy disaster. There are moments when voices swirl around me. Simple requests to play legos, read a book, wipe a bottom, feed a tummy, pick up toys, tie a shoe, zip a zipper, play a game, build a puzzle fill the air. The voices can seem in opposition to each other & I often feel pulled in too many directions.
That is when I retreat to my closet which is lined with scripture.
Not to hide, but to seek renewing of my mind & strength from our mighty God. You see, my husband coaches HS tennis and a few years ago the end of the season party was hosted by a family whose bathroom had a huge impact on me. Yup, their bathroom. The walls & ceiling were written on with markers of all colors. There wasn’t a blank spot. There was scripture, there were funny & random comments, there were notes of encouragement & thanks. And that bathroom made me feel good. It held their family memories, highlighted their friendships & their gift for hospitality & shone God’s goodness.
Feeling inspired, I asked my husband if I could write on our closet walls. He said I could do whatever I wanted with those walls. So I bought a pack of markers & started writing. I lined the walls with scripture & I covered the ceiling with things I was thankful for. And before I knew it, my closet had become a place to pray, trust, believe, hope, thank & seek.
So when demands swirl around me my closet is there to steady me. I can sneak away to read a quick verse, lift up a prayer & return to my day with a fresh perspective. I read a quick verse, lift up a prayer & return to my day with a fresh perspective.
Growth has come by pausing to say, “This is hard, God. I cannot do this. I need you. Show me how to love…serve…honor…trust…
And it often feels like I need to die to myself to really get anywhere.
It is harder than hard, and there are times I struggle to breathe. Times when I say, “Lord, letting go of what I want really stinks. Help.” And do you know what He often says? “Obey me, trust me, and see what I can do.”
Whenever I need a really good pep-talk, I reach for Jen Hatmaker’s Interrupted. She makes loving, serving & being stretched seem like one big fabulous party. She writes,
“The path of descent becomes our own liberation. We are freed from the exhausting stance of defense. We are no longer compelled to be right & are thus relieved from the burden of maintaining some reputation. We are released from the idols of greed, control & status.”
So basically she is saying is,
“Lighten up, Janae–who cares if your sweats are the only thing that fit or you comb your hair so rarely that you have humongous knots that need cut out? And big deal if your hubby goes grocery shopping & comes home with 50 boxes of nitrate filled sausages because they were $.27 a box. Surrender & live in freedom.”
Recently my daughter set the table for dinner. She put a lot of consideration into arranging the dishes & utensils. When I sat down, I realized she had given me a huge dinner fork. I prefer the little salad forks. The big ones feel clumsy, heavy, awkward in my hand (I guess I am a fork wimp). I could have very easily stood up, taken a few steps & exchanged the big fork for a little one. But instead I chose to honor her, the choices she made & the effort she put forth. I ate my dinner with that big fork. After a little while, I got used to the weight & it no longer felt out of place in my hand.
I had forgotten it wasn’t what I wanted.
So the question has become, What will I do when given a fork I do not want? When it feels too heavy? When the messes are too big or the attitudes aren’t right or he is working late (again) or the house plans aren’t quite what I wanted or the car isn’t what I would like to be driving or the house projects aren’t ever going to get done or that bikini barista coffee shop irritates me or I find somebody digging through our garbage bin–what am I going to do?
Bend low, dig deep, surrender, build legos, sort the laundry, do the dishes, sweep the floors, survive the sleepless nights, read a book, take a deep breath when the toddler empties the fridge (above!), say “okay & thank you” when he calls to say he is working late, take flowers to the bikini barista, feed the person digging through my garbage.
And let it all transform me while living in the joy that comes in serving & knowing Jesus.
“Always be full of joy in the Lord. I say it again–rejoice! Let everyone see that you are considerate in all you do. Remember, the Lord is coming soon. Don’t worry about anything; instead pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all He has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts & minds as you live in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:4-7
{Thanks for reading.}