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What a glorious day, today

I changed puke-covered sheets twice last night, which means another day of trips to the basement laundry room. I left the preschool after chatting with a few friends and letting the teachers hold the baby to get their fix (he’s so cute, he’s like a drug). I’ll make a pot of ginger turmeric tea to share with the toddler and though I have all the right ingredients, my effort at replicating the Bakehouse Breakfast Club fell slightly short. (It’s never quite the same as when someone else makes it for you, yes?)

Then on to the pile of resumes to review for the client who wants to hire. Note: when it says “1-3 years experience in food service” they really do mean you. The Dyson needs surgery so I’ll be spending some time on YouTube while the toddler paints* at the kitchen table. A newsletter needs curated and samples sent to a lead on new opportunities.

This is my day. All day, most every day. Often I get to meet with fascinating and encouraging people along the way -for work and for play. Just as frequently my only conversation is discussing the days of the week or the ways in which flashlights work.

So with the sun shining this morning I’m filled with gratitude and awe. It’s a day with a to-do list that is tasked out but which will end with an evening of celebrating 8 glorious years with a man who makes this beautiful struggle possible. I have things to do, people with whom to enjoy it. God has provided just enough, each day, for me to continue to live in such a blessed way.

In our culture, we’re often driven to build more, bigger, best. But recently while reading Tsh Oxenreider’s Notes from a Blue Book** I fell in love with an old parable (source. I copied/pasted.)

An American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them.

The Mexican replied, “only a little while. The American then asked why didn’t he stay out longer and catch more fish? The Mexican said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs. The American then asked, “but what do you do with the rest of your time?”

The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siestas with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine, and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life.” The American scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing, and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually New York City, where you will run your expanding enterprise.”

The Mexican fisherman asked, “But, how long will this all take?”

To which the American replied, “15 – 20 years.”

“But what then?” Asked the Mexican.

The American laughed and said, “That’s the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions!”

“Millions – then what?”

The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siestas with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”

That’s my dream life. Enjoying daily life with my children, making dinner, running a household, writing things that help people’s dreams and business’ flourish and their spiritual lives come awake. Then ending with a full glass of wine and the company of beautiful souls. Some people build empires of business and commerce and personal wealth and all the power to them – you have this one short life, so go for it.

As for me, I’m building into people in the most basic ways possible. This simple act of presence – of typing out words into an invisible world, splashing my hands into warm, soapy dish water for the third time of the day and fixing toys whose wheels fell off – fills me with joy. I’m living it with such beautiful souls, people who encourage me and make me laugh and don’t mind my exceptionally greasy, unshowered hair. If it all ended tomorrow, I can say it’s a life well lived.  My prayer is that, wherever you are and however you spend your days, you feel the same way.

*While writing, this happened:

I swear I cropped out that sun streak. But those emails are calling, I have no time for editing.

**Affiliate link. I make a few pennies when you click and buy. But Tsh didn’t pay me, I’m glad to recommend the book on my own accord. It’s a fantastic book.

You’ve got your hands full

I can take many parts of the SAHM/WAHM life in stride. Figuring out how to transform a pound of raw ground beef into “dinner” has become second nature. Attacking the laundry room floor*, which you suddenly cannot find after one kid starts puking (when you previously thought you were caught up), barely causes me to blink. 

While I can roll with the normal household frustrations, allow me to share the mothering thing that makes me throw things: the neediness. Not necessarily the cup-filling and bun-wiping, but the attention-seeking. The constant chatter from my supreme extrovert. The invasion of my personal time and space prior to 7am, when I feel it’s only fair that I get ONE FLIPPING HOUR because, after all, it’s before dawn
So as the baby decides at 6:15 to get his foot stuck between the crib rails and then the toddler toddles down not even a half hour later, feigning a failure to understand time (or apparently English as she refused to march herself back up the stairs), I want to sink my fingernails into my ears and pull. 
Or, as JJ so politely said this morning, I am not in a good mood. 
The practical stuff can be dealt with because I know I’m living in a transitory state – they will someday grow up and be able to do things like wipe after pooping or even carry down a load of laundry (praise my sweet Jesus, I know this is true and I shall give shouts of acclimation on that very day). The physical ways in which they require my assistance will someday be outgrown. 
The challenge is their need for me to handle their hearts with care. To tend to their emotions and desires and to validate their place in their home, school and world. To give words to their tears and shouts. This is the hard stuff of mothering. You can line up 85 kids and I can take a tissue to every single nose, but the gentle tending of their souls? My friends, sometimes these are so heavy and and I’m deathly afraid of dropping them. I’ve seen the children whose lives have shattered because those who loved much cared little for the ways in which words and deeds affected their home. 
full hands, full heart
Think this is cute? Buy it. 
Every time I go into the grocery store – every. single. time. – someone remarks that I “have my hands full.” Usually I don’t tote all 4 with me so I’m not sure how to respond. And indeed, my hands are full. But not with zipping winter coats or filling a grocery cart the size of a bus full of bananas and diapers (praise Jesus once again for cloth). 
My hands are full of precious little personalities. People, little people, crying out for permission to be included and valued. And as the pin says, if you think my hands are full – you should see my heart. 
Yet a heart swollen with love sometimes accompanies weary shoulders. These souls can be heavy and at times put a few nicks and cuts into my own heart, but such is the task of mothering. If it leaves us the same when we’re all done, we probably haven’t done it quite right. 
*I literally went down to move a load over after writing this. It’s how stuff gets done around here. 
 

God’s not a bully

God can do anything, you know – far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us. 

Ephesians 3:20-21 (MSG)
God won’t push us around. If there’s a change you sense or you feel a tug, God won’t make you do it. He’s not a bully or a hard-handed father. (My friends, God is so Reggio.)
On the one hand, this makes us feel incredibly safe. We’re not God’s little robots, forced into lives we don’t want. We have choice and autonomy. 
On the other hand, this is unbelievably scary. You mean that if I sense change is needed in my life, I’m responsible for giving God space to work it out? That Spirit we sense at work won’t magically transform us overnight into the life of our dreams but rather we have to employ our gifts of listening and sensing and being sensitive to the inner-workings in our lives? 
Freedom and responsibility. 
 
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