Sky’s the limit now!
“I don’t WANT to go!”
He curled up on the couch, burrowing his head into the pillow. The way he protested you’d think we’d suggested Family Night at the DMV. No, this was Family Night at the pool. Heidi had wanted to take swim lessons so she’d be ready for summer, but all the sessions were full, then when I crunched the numbers I realized we could attend the weekly Family Night at the pool and all swim together for the same price. We made the plan. I followed my tried-and-true method for introducing my boy to a new activity:
I told him about it the week before.
I told him about it three days before.
I told him about it the day before.
I told him about it that morning.
I told him about it after dinner.
I told him about it 15 minutes before.
I told him about it 10 minutes before.
I told him about it five minutes before.
But now it was time to go and now it was time for him to slip into I-hate-trying-new-things-mode. It’s not that he doesn’t like to swim. He loves it. It’s not as if we were planning an activity he loathed. It’s just that he’s never done this exact activity before.
Thankfully, we’ve done this a few times. I told him he didn’t have to get in the water, he could bring a book and sit on the side while we swam. But I suggested he bring his swimsuit …. just in case. (Smile) Heidi leaned in close to me before we walked out the door and whispered knowingly, “Once he gets there he’s gonna love it.” I nodded and she smiled wide. She’s done this a few times too.
I must say, Spring Break was a poor week for our first Family Night. As Heidi and I emerged from the ladies locker room we saw about 53,000 children and parents splashing and shouting and shouting and splashing and my sensory-overload alarm started blaring in my brain as my eyes glazed over and I was rendered suddenly incoherent: Why am I here?
I scanned the sea of flailing arms and faces and finally found Jeff beaming, waving us over. Beside him was begoggled Dutch, dipping and diving and bobbing up and down. I stepped into the water and he rushed through the water to my side, breathless with excitement:
“Mommy! I did a double somersault without even coming up for oxygen!” He shook his head amazed, high as a kite with the exhilaration of achievement. “Sky’s the limit now!”
And with that he was underwater again, leaving Jeff and me laughing out loud, mouthing to each other across the swimming heads between us: Sky’s the limit now!
That’s our boy.
That’s just it though, isn’t it? For me too. Really it’s just that one hump I’ve got to get over. That one scary thing. Aren’t we all just kids who must do One Brave Thing today, and then maybe again tomorrow? My mind knows that swimming, faith, is not that bad. In fact, it’ll probably be fun. But sometimes I’d still rather stay here on the couch and burrow my head into a pillow.
But really, all I have to do is jump on in. Once I hop in the pool the work is really done. Right?
Sky’s the limit now!
{Oh the fun of raising kids and BEING kids. May you jump in! Happy weekend.}
‘Til the fog lifts…
I looked out the window: Thick, heavy, fog. Great.
What is it with funks? So hard to explain. So hard to predict. We know all the right answers, the shoulds and oughts and answers. We can quote the verse. Rejoice!
What about when you don’t?! That fog settles inside too. So heavy. The kids awake cross. I feel lethargic and sleepy. There’s nothing inspiring on the agenda today, and even my favorite mundane activities have lost their charm.
I go through the motions, looking for miracles. Where are You in my mundane today, Lord? I make the oatmeal. Pour coffee. Even my beloved morning brew lacks its usual draw. The kids can feel it too. What will we do today? Our plan, OMSI, is changed because apparently the museum is closed.
I look outside the window again at the cold, thick fog. I can’t even see the chicken coop.
We’d had the false-promise of sunshine. 66-degrees and sunny. Really? But it’s not really the weather, it’s something else. My own tendency to isolate, draw in, find comfort in independence, hole up and hide a bit ’til the fog clears. I don’t like the fog–draw the blinds and crawl back in bed until the sun breaks.
We wait. And wait.
And I stare at my phone because I know a quick text can open up this darkness and let a close friend in. I know who and how, they are always near and eager to love me, to pray, but there’s a sick satisfaction in just lying down in the fog, hiding in obscurity. I stare at my phone. Nah.
The kids and I go upstairs, try to plan our way out of the fog-funk, come up with a solution. That always works, right? (Rolling my eyes here.) We have ideas, different ones: both kids disagree (on everything). I turn to do something and some random gyration (as they roughhouse) lands his head straight into her nose.
SCREAM!
That is IT.
I’m so done.
Get in your room now.
The command is for him but I do it too. Walk into my room and throw myself on the bed, close my eyes, facedown in a pillow. I just can’t look at it anymore, any of it. I’m being childish and selfish, I know it. But I don’t care. Don’t I ever get to pout?! Why do I always have to be the grown-up??
Heidi tip-toes softly in, she’s ten-times more mature than me at this point. She stands beside the bed, and softly caresses my back, her tiny starfish hands gently running up and down my back.
“It’s ok, Mommy. It’s ok.”
Oh that girl. She’s the one that got hit and here she is, leaning over me, in love. I pray the simple pathetic prayer, “Father, show me what to do.” And for me, now, I know what it is:
Reach out into the fog.
I pull Heidi up into my arms, kiss her perfect tiny mouth, and go downstairs, send out that text to that dear one: Honest confession and request for prayer. It isn’t long, but it’s me reaching out into the fog:
“I can’t see clearly right now, help! Could you reach out and take my hand?“
Even before I hear back, I can see a little better now. See my sin (anger) and theirs (complaining). I head back up, gather them into my arms, talk honestly about our sin and sit in prayer together, asking God to forgive us and grant a fresh start to the day. My phone buzzes with a response, one so perfect in its perspective that it has me laughing out loud. Oh, being loved–what grace!
Just then we three look up, through the skylight: Perfect blue.
The fog has lifted.
{For whatever fog you face today. Reach out, to Him, to another. Even here–I’d love to pray for you. Thanks for reading.}
One Brave Thing
“It’s Daddy! It’s Daddy!” Heidi shouted, excited, as she ran into the living room holding my phone. I gasped, rushing to grab the phone and carefully swipe to accept the Facetime call. Jeff had only been in Africa 2 days, and I wasn’t sure if we’d be able to talk via Facetime at all. But here he was, calling. We huddled up anxiously on the couch, holding up the screen in front of our faces, waiting for the connection to come through. We waited … connecting connecting connecting.
And there he was! Clearly tired but full of joy, Jeff sat on his bed beaming into the screen. Heidi quickly began jabbering, telling every detail of our beach trip, holding up her new stuffed pony and gemstone sandals. Jeff listened long before sharing tidbits of his life-changing adventure through Uganda, following in the footsteps of our good friends Paul & Pam Hunter from Next Generation Ministries.
At the end, before hanging up, Jeff got face to face with Heidi on the phone.
“Heidi, I want you to do one brave thing, then tell me all about what you did. Ok?”
Heidi looked seriously, receiving her charge.
“Ok, Daddy.”
We kissed the phone-screen and said goodbye. I didn’t mention the brave-thing, but I loved that he challenged her with that.
See, my little darlin’ doesn’t come by bravery easily. Perhaps she gets it from her Mama. (smile) Caution comes quickly, and both my kids would always rather play it safe. I joke that I don’t have a thrill-seeking bone in my body.
But we don’t have to be dare-devils to be brave.
It was the next day when we were playing outside at Riversong, my parents country home. For months Papa had urged Heidi to take off her training wheels, but she refused. No way. She had no intention of ever doing such a thing. But this morning, Papa drove off for a trip to town, and as we pulled out her bike she paused. For just a moment she looked down at her bike, then up into my eyes. Then she said it quietly,
“Mama, let’s take off my training wheels.” I grinned, but didn’t make a big deal (I’ve learned the hard way that over-exuberance kills the moment for my kids), quickly found a wrench, removed the wheels, and held the bike steady.
“I’ll run along behind you and hold that seat,” I promised, but no sooner had we started than she called back,
“You don’t need to hold on.”
And just like that … she was off. Riding like the wind, golden-tipped curls streaming behind her, face full of light, open-mouth smile:
“Look Mommy! I’m riding! I can’t wait to show Daddy!”
You’d think she was born on that bike, the way she speeds around that driveway now.
That night, we curled into bed together, her little arms around my neck, her sweet-breath right on my face as she whispered,
“Mommy, I did one brave thing.”
“Yes, sweetie-girl you did.”
The next day she jumped up when the phone buzzed, holding up the screen while she waited for the connection. “Daddy! I did it! I did one brave thing! I rode my bike without training wheels.”
As I sat and watched the joy on her face, the joy on Jeff’s face, I couldn’t help but see the Father’s heart for us, His kids. He knows we’re afraid. He knows we’re not naturally courageous. He knows we’re prone to fear, caution. He knows that spiritually-speaking, we’re not much for thrill-seeking.
But He asks us just this: Do one brave thing.
You don’t have to raise the dead just yet. Maybe pray for a mundane miracle. Maybe give 10% of your income even though you don’t know how ends will meet. Forgive that person who hurt you so long ago. Trust Him with that relationship that’s gone haywire. Give extra kindness to the person who’s just so hard to love.
What is your one brave thing?
May today be the day you take off those training wheels … and ride like the wind.
Your Father will be so proud.
{Thanks for reading.}
Mishaps into Miracles
The conference was scheduled months in advance. I knew Jeff would be in Africa, but my parents happily agreed to come with me and watch the kids there at the coast. Perfect. I rented a small beach-house, right by the conference center where I’d be speaking. All set.
Until mom broke her leg just before the conference. Now what do I do? I have a conference, a beach house, and 2 kids. Hmm…
Of course, I prayed. Then I texted my mother-in-law. Could you come? She already had another trip planned. Next, my aunt and uncle. So sorry, it doesn’t work for us. Because it was a Mon-Wed conference, it had to be someone either retired or who didn’t have any normal weekday commitments and who would feel comfortable sharing a tiny house with us and taking care of my kids … i.e. there aren’t very many of those people!
But every time I prayed, I has this strong sense: Wait. Trust Me.
Days went by. Wait. Trust Me. With just a few days before the conference, the question crossed my mind. Where is the line between faith and irresponsibility?
Wait. Trust Me.
Then, just a couple days before the conference, Dutch asked if he could stay with my parents instead of going. Of course! I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s way easier to do things when it’s just Heidi and me. She’s a great little sidekick. Then, one hour after he asked that, the coordinator for the conference emailed and said she’d be bringing her two little girls and a hired helper, and that Heidi was welcome to play with her girls with the hired helper during my teaching sessions! This now meant that Heidi and I had a 3-day Girl’s Beach trip to ourselves, complete with a house and childcare provided during my teaching times.
In the course of an hour, what seemed like a test turned into a treat.
A mishap into the miracle.
But that wasn’t it. More miracles and mishaps were ahead.
The day of the conference, we got Jeff on the airplane to Africa, and met up with my parents to hand Dutch off. It was a gloriously sunny day, and we happened to be just blocks away from my dear lifelong friend, Janae, who I rarely get to see because both our lives are so busy. Just the week before, Heidi had been asking if she could please play with Janae’s daughters sometime. I texted her to see if we could swing by on our way to the beach. Our convo –>
By the time we swung by her house 10 minutes later, her kids already had their beach toys ready to go! “Just like old times!” She said with a smile, reminiscing to our college days when impromptu road-trips were a common occurrence.
That afternoon we laughed as the kids splashed in the freezing ocean. They came back to our beach house and huddled up around the fireplace while we made dinner then walked to the park, pushing them on swings and finally getting hours to catch up after way, way, way too long.
Late that night, she loaded up her kids for the long drive home. Just as they were pulling out, I remembered that I’d forgotten Heidi’s favorite breakfast cereal, a treat for our trip. I told Heidi quietly, and in the perfect storm of missing daddy, and saying goodbye to friends, and feeling a little out-of-place in this new house, she started crying. (Yes, crying over Cheerios.) I comforted her, and told her it’d be ok, and we waved goodbye and headed inside. We curled up in bed, but she still cried softly, missing daddy. I kissed her tears, and we prayed.
Then my phone buzzed.
Something’s on your porch. 🙂
Heidi and I ran to the front door. There it was. A big yellow box of cheerios and 2 pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. In college Janae and I used to eat B&J together, almost every day. I hadn’t tasted the super-rich, delicious ice cream in years.
Heidi jumped up and down, holding the yellow box. It’s silly, maybe, it’s just a cereal, but we poured her a little bowl as a bedtime snack, and it was just the little gift, the little kiss from God, to comfort her heart and make her feel loved.
The next day, still basking in God’s love, Heidi and I went to the conference. Again, a little mishap–the childcare option fell through. Now what do we do? My session was scheduled to begin at 2:00pm, and at 2:05pm I was sitting on the floor in the hallway holding my daughter, wiping her tears, assuring her it’d all be ok. Would it?
“I’ll tell you what sweetie-girl. I’d LOVE to have you with me while I speak. It’d be such a treat for me. You can sit at my feet, ok?”
And so she did. I sat behind a conference table, and she sat at my feet, playing with her stuffed animal and typing notes on my phone. At one point she tooted loudly while I was talking. Yup. It was all fairly awesome adventure.
The rest of the conference went on without much more mishap, but later, after getting home, I received a message from a dear gal who’d attended:
God used you a mighty way when precious Heidi was under the table. Your gracious love for her in that time really taught me a few very important things about my daughter. God got my attention! Thank you for letting your change of plans be for is glory.
That last line has so stuck with me, it’s become my prayer: “Lord let my change of plans be for Your glory.”
In His hands, all mishaps turn to miracles.
{For whatever mishaps you meet this week, may you place them in His hands, in trust, and watch Him work them into miracles. Thanks for reading!}
Leading our children from cynicism to hope…
It was December when she said it.
We were snuggled up together on the couch, under a quilt; we’d just finished reading the story of Jesus healing Jairus’ daughter. What a glorious story! And then she said it, quiet, to herself,
“God doesn’t do that anymore.”
My breath caught, struck that her unguarded childlike words would reflect what I too suspected, way down deep:
Does God do that anymore?
The truth was, though I’d read those words dozens of times, I wasn’t quite sure if God “did that anymore.”
My own inner doubts seemed harmless enough, honest questions, right? But once I heard my own unbelief spoken softly into the air, through the very lips of my precious daughter, the one I have devoted my life to discipling into a follower of Christ … then I knew something great was at stake:
My life is becoming her doctrine.
I closed my eyes and saw the sand in the hourglass–time running out.
See, childlike faith can quickly turn to cynicism. Certainly, we cannot (and should not!) shelter our children from all disappointment. God does not say yes to every prayer. (This too is grace.) But children give us the gift of unfiltered speech:
The Emperor has no clothes!
They see right through religion. What is real? We’re often afraid to speak the obvious, afraid it will expose our own inadequacies, and as a result we sometimes miss seeing a real God do real stuff in the real world every single day.
Later, months later, we sat on the couch and read The Hungry Thing. When all the adults cannot fathom was schmancakes and hookies and gollipops could possibly be, the small child speaks up with the clarity that only humility can bring:
Pancakes, and cookies and lollipops!
This year’s read through the Bible has only been a lesson in childlikeness. Believe what the Word actually says. Keep living as if “biblical” is real, because it is, even if you don’t feel it or see it at first.
Eventually your “real” will rise to meet biblical. Don’t give up.
What does this mean for my mundane? It means refusing to give up. It means meeting the questioning gaze of my daughter when she prays again and doesn’t see the answer she’d hoped for. It means honestly admitting that I also don’t understand sometimes. And it means celebrating every glimpse of the miraculous in our mundane. (Four times recently Heidi has prayed on her own to find a misplaced item and each time God immediately answered. She prayed for a specific need on Wednesday and had it clearly answered. Mundane miracles start tiny!)
It means cultivating an atmosphere of childlike faith and steadfast hope. It means rejecting cynicism, doubt, discouragement, and unbelief. It means come to the Father again and again in faith, in prayer, asking for everything from miracles to meals.
Let’s not lose our children to cynicism. Let’s commit afresh to seeing His kingdom come, in our homes and in their hearts as it is in heaven.
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope. (Rom. 15:13)
{Happy weekend. Thanks for reading.}
Free-range kids and letting go of labels
Spring’s come early to Oregon and the chickens are laying again. At this moment I’m sitting on the back porch as I watch the kids creating animal farms in the yard. Yes, “animal farms” are as simple as they sound: tupperware containers filled with worms, spiders, centipedes, snails, and slugs.
Over to the left are the chickens.
We joke that we only raise the finest “free-range” chickens. Of course they are free-range, we leave the gate and let them roam around the yard during the day.
Achieving “free-range” is much easier than it sounds.
But “free-range” is a funny thing, right? It’s a label we attach that conjures up an image that’s probably far from reality. More and more we are becoming label-obsessed and label-dependent, and while I’m certainly not here to take issue with the food industry (I’m just happy to have food on my table!), I’ve noticed that the label-happy mentality sticks itself to our homeschooling habits as well.
Classical, TJED, unschool, Charlotte Mason, Montessori, Waldorf, and there’s more … all of these have excellent elements, and one of them may be the perfect fit for your family.
Dear Daughter,
My dear, precious daughter, Heidi,
It’s your birthday today, hooray! How I have looked forward to this day, maybe even more than you have, this day to celebrate you and shower you with special affection and love. You are sweet and six today, curls dangling down and cheeks still round and tiny mouth full of sweetness. We’ve counted down the days (since 17!) and it’s finally here–your birthday.
I stopped by Fred Meyer late, in the middle of the night, on my way home from my retreat, for just one special purchase: Frozen light-up athletic shoes. The ones Daddy told me about, the ones you saw, the ones that made your face all light. They’re bright and blinking and branded, all my least-favorite things :), but I know your heart, and my heart skips a beat just thinking of your face lighting up when you open them today.
The truth is, it takes restraint on my part to only give you a few gifts today. Although you are so cautious in your requests, although you are so mindful not to ask for things that are too “espensive,” although you are so incredibly precious in your simple Wish Lists and you willingness to not receive every whimsical desire, I love these qualities about you and the truth is:
I LOVE showering you with gifts. It gives me immeasurable pleasure to pour out my blessings on your little life. When I saw the reader-board sign that read “$1 sundaes” at Burgerville, I couldn’t wait to text Daddy and tell him–I knew he’d take you out on a little date while I was away, and I was so excited for you to get this special treat.
Here at my retreat I just sifted through my goodie-bag, the one they give each gal, and saved out the Hershey Kiss for you, because I knew your eyes would light up: “For me?!”
Giving you a chocolate kiss is so much sweeter than tasting one myself.
The truth is, the only reason I ever don’t give you something is only for your own good. The only reason I hold back anything is because I don’t want to spoil you or ruin you, or fail to teach you important truths such as waiting, faith, trusting, delaying gratification.
The truth is, I’d just shower you with delightful gifts all day long, every day of the year, but I want you to be good and godly even more than I want to give you gifts. Besides, sometimes I want to just give you me, because our relationship–you and me–is the most important thing I can give you right now.I know that for years down the road you will remember our relationship more than any single item I ever gave. Our relationship will be what you turn to when things are hard, when life seems bitter, when inevitable disappointments come your way.
But, my sweet girl, just know: I delight to give you gifts, I delight to give you me, I delight in you. You are more precious than words could ever describe. I cannot breathe enough of your breath. I cannot hear you laugh enough times. When you shuffle out of bed, sleepy-eyed, and crawl into my lap for morning Bible time: I can barely breathe for how sacred those times are to me.
Above all, my greatest hope and desire is that you know you are extravagently loved. The Hershey kisses and Frozen sneakers are just little tangible tokens of my never-stopping, never-failing, always-and-forever love for you … my precious daughter.
I love you. Happy birthday.
Love,
Mommy
*Dear precious friends, please take a moment and re-read this letter, but this time, insert your own name in the place of my daughter, and at the very end, cross out “Mommy” and write, “God.” I believe you will get a tiny glimpse of the Father’s extravagant love for you. I don’t know what the “Frozen sneakers” represent in your life, and you’re probably not 6-years-old, but the Father delights in giving you good gifts, most of all Himself. Happy Monday, and thanks for reading.
Like sparks from the fire
Hello dear friends, it’s good to be in this special, sacred space again! I’m Caila, an old college pal of Kari’s: partner in shenanigans, fellow blond, and another mom who loves to chat about the Sacred Mundane. You can visit my blog, CailaMade, to learn more about me and my adventures in sewing and other creative pursuits. I’ll be here at SM all week while Kari is traveling. We are going to have fun!
Now, where to start? I could tell about the time I first heard Kari mention the words, “Sacred Mundane” (I was a senior in college), or the time we got stuck on the East Cost after 9-11 and had to sleep on airport floors and share packs of underwear from Walmart because our luggage was locked in the plane. Or, I could tell about college women’s retreats where we would study the Bible but not shower for days on end. Kinda gross, eh? It was fun!
Years have passed since those college days and the troubles we faced when we were young and inexperienced. Those troubles seem so small in retrospect, but they were significant then. My shopping addiction (embarrassing, but true), Kari’s unrequited love for Jeff Patterson that turned out not to be so unrequited after all. Huge worries that kept us up all night, and kept us on our knees, as we begged God to make our paths straight and clear.
Now that I’m a mother of three, a wife, and a homemaker in our a small, blue bungalow in Southern California, I can’t help but look back at little college Caila and shake my head fondly. She didn’t understand what great troubles and great joys were coming her way. In a thousand answered prayers I’ve seen a thousand ways I need to grow in strength and perseverance to honor God with this life he has given me.
As my life grows and expands, I’ve noticed that joy and trouble seem to come hand in hand. More children = more joy = more trouble. Becoming new home owners = more joy = more trouble. Bringing home a new Golden Retriever puppy (her name is Athena) = more joy = more trouble.
Yeah, it’s true. With every new and good thing, comes more responsibility. It’s a heavy load to bear sometimes.
But that’s life, isn’t it? The good and the bad. The beauty and the trouble. It reminds me of this great moment from the Princess Bride between Westley (when he’s disguised as the Dread Pirate Roberts )and Buttercup:
Buttercup: You mock my pain!
Westley: Life IS pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.
It’s true. As much as I wish it wasn’t, trouble and pain are just part of the deal. Whenever I feel depressed because things are harder than I expected I remember this verse from the book of Job, chapter 5 verse 7:
“But man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward.”
As the sparks fly upward. In other words, trouble is to mankind like physics is to nature. It’s a law that life must follow. Trouble is as natural as joy.
Maybe wishing things were easier is part of the problem.
Perhaps, my daily struggles as a mom are compounded by expecting things to be so much easier. Maybe some things are just hard, and with time I will get strong enough to carry them more easily, but in the mean time there is nothing wrong with hard. Hard prepares you for what’s ahead. Hard means you’ll be stronger for the next load.
I’ve spent too much of my life waiting for easier. Easier ain’t coming. Easier doesn’t exist. She’s like that model on the cover of a magazine, airbrushed to perfection. She’s not the real deal. Easy has no place in my home, because “easy” doesn’t grow trust, or love, of faithful perseverance. Easy grows laziness, and believe me, there’s no room for lazy in my life.
So I guess what I’m trying to say, mommas, is this: Don’t be too discouraged when it’s hard. I know how it feels when the baby wakes up for the millionth time at night and you don’t think you can take another wakeful moment. You can. You are strong enough.
I know how it feels when your husband has to work another late night and he’s bringing home the paycheck but it feels like everything else is on you all the time. You can handle it. You are strong enough.
And do you know why you are enough? Not because you and I are perfect or extra-special. Not because we posses the secrets of the universe. No. We are strong enough because God, who is rich in mercy, has been making us strong enough since we were born.
You have been prepared for this. I have been prepared for this. And if it feels hard, that’s because it. is. hard. But it’s beautiful-hard. And beautiful-hard is better than everything that comes with easy, which is usually very little.
Be encouraged today. Keep pushing on, keep doing well, beautiful mommas. It will get better. And then maybe something else will come along to try your strength. In this life, always expect trouble with the joy. But remember that JOY will win in the end.
Bless you today!
What a real homeschool day looks like…
So here’s the thing: This is a real day.
I’m always tempted, when doing this day-in-the-life-deal, to write a sort of conglomeration of various days melded together to create what I consider “typical.” This is well and good, but unfortunately, by trying to share “typical” I wind up sharing “ideal.” And the truth is that my biggest challenge with homeschooling is that my real day does not match up with the ideal day in my mind.
So scratch the ideal day, or even the “typical” day … here is a real day.
Wednesday, January 7th, in all its mundane glory:
(Read the rest over at Simple Homeschool … thanks!)
“Is there anything else, Daddy?”
“Is there anything else, Mommy?”
Adding that 8th chore card was a rare stroke of genius.
Every morning these words are music to my ears. No matter how poorly I’ve slept or how cranky I feel or how unenthusiastically the kids have embraced their responsibilities, there is something so sweet and glorious about hearing a child ask this simple question.
(Lest you think they are angel-kids who automatically ask such things, genuinely eager to know if there are any more unnoticed or otherwise forgotten work items I have for them … no. They are normal kids who routinely rush through making their beds, thus leaving the sheet hanging out the side like a slack tongue, while the top blanket lies deceptively smooth over the disheveled mess underneath. No, I have more than once found barely-foamed toothpaste spit out in the sink: “There is no way you could have brushed your teeth well while leaving the glob of toothpaste still in tact!”)
*sigh*
But at the very end, the 8th chore on the little key-ring of cards, is this simple question:
Is there anything else, Mommy?
And the funny thing is, they automatically say it with a smile because I can’t help but smile when I hear those words. It means: a) they have finished their chores (!) and b) I have an opportunity to ask them to do ANYTHING ELSE I want!
Of course I’m smiling!
This image, of them asking me and me grinning, happy, came to my mind yesterday as I was reading Scripture. As I read God’s Words, His commands, His truth, it struck me that, when I finished reading and obeying (in that moment) what He’d put before me, I could also turned heavenward and ask, in childlike prayer:
“Is there anything else, Daddy?”
This is, in essence, the daily practice of confessing our sins.
Father, is there anything left undone, unnoticed, anything dirty or unpleasing in me that You’d like to call my attention to? Something you want me to deal with before I move on with my day?
Of course when my kids ask me this question, I answer mercifully. If I can think of something simple, or a specific correction, I say it. They then carry out the unfinished task or we together correct the attitude or address the specific incident. Or, often, I simply hug them and thank them for their good work, and tell them to enjoy the rest of their morning. Of course there’s more. I could easily tell each of my kids a couple dozen things they need to work on and just as many jobs I’d like done.
But I don’t fire-hose them with it all at once.
God doesn’t either.
When we confess our sins to God and ask, “Is there anything else, Daddy?” He doesn’t unload on us. If He did, revealing ALL our weaknesses, sins, shortcomings, failures, we’d be incinerated. Toast.
But He doesn’t. He’s patient, merciful, and gives us just what we can handle in that moment.
But how it must please the Father when we ask! Just as I can’t help but grin, ear to ear, when my littles ask me that question, how it must also please our Father, yes?
Sure, it isn’t always fun to find out there’s even more to deal with than we had thought! Another “chore” seems like … well, a chore. But how rewarding it is to know we are slowly learning to bless His heart, to please Him.
How rewarding it is to see the Father smile.
{Thanks for reading.}
“Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.”
James 5:16