Marvelous Mundane

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Marvelous Mundane

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Peacemaking is a part-time job for me, though some extra special days require full-time hours.
Between the great childhood truth of “I want whatever toy he is touching, NOW”, the badly aimed nerf-darts, and the mixing of immaturities & childish impulses, you can often find me negotiating an uncertain peace to hold off world war 3.

Limiting injuries is usually my goal, intervening before they whip out their weapons of choice: fists & teeth. Stepping in before annoyed yells turn into pained howls.
Peace is quiet. Peace is harmony. Peace means I can sit down for a minute without wondering, “what is going on down there?!!” And good as those things are, Sermon on the Mount peace-making is more than a synonym for quiet & comfort. It’s a gospel-centered peacemaking knowing ultimate peace is sin’s defeat and an eternal relationship with God through Jesus’ work.
But how does this kind of peace step into this world of toddler tantrums, flying nerf darts, and potty names?

I’m in the beginning of wrestling with this over here in boy-land, but I know it starts with me. I know my heart has to daily treasure “Christ in us, the hope of glory” more than quiet & comfort & conflict-free zones. My peace-making can’t just be about creating a certain home environment or sibling relationship. It has to point to our eternal peace in Jesus.
- “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the sons of God.”

Early mornings on the couch enjoying darkness & quiet before this house fills with all the sounds of energy & enthusiasm & the clash of little personalities.
Early mornings fueling my soul before the constant need descends, before distraction & busyness & love & life consume every thought.
Early mornings reflecting on hopes and dreams and plans and worries and coming back to the great truth:
He is enough this morning.

He is our promised future in the middle of uncertainty, a constant presence in a day full of ups & downs. It has never been, “can I make this happen?” because he is enough.
He is the redeemer- of yesterday’s regrets, today’s attempts, tomorrow’s plans. It has never been “can I do this good enough?” because he is enough.
He is present; his reality spills over every mundane moment, every overwhelming circumstance, every exciting opportunity. It has never been, “what’s the point?” because he has always been the purpose.
Hoping that throughout our day today we see the great hope in every ordinary moment.

“Do you think God can use you?” “No, I’m too young”. His answer quickly spills out. Then, just as quickly, he grins and edits his answer: “yes!” We’ve just finished reading David & Goliath in the Jesus Storybook Bible. A story intended for my four year old, but what eight year old boy can resist nasty giants & spinning slingshots & “how-could-a-small-rock-actually-kill-a-giant” conversations? “God doesn’t look for big strong people,” I tell my boys. “He chooses people with faith in HIM.” The longer I’ve parented, the more I’ve realized these words I hand them are actually for me, too. Usually it takes a bit of later-self-reflection to realize this, but today it’s black & white, front & center as soon as the words leave my mouth.
Does my life show I believe God works his incredible power through believing hearts? Or do my days show a belief that self-effort & self-betterment are the keys to success? That a meaningful life is waiting in a better organized, better educated, better planned life?
I’m not arguing against faith and wisdom leading us down a path of intentional life choices. But I do think I need to pay more attention to my own heart, to my real hope. I need to watch those subtle signs I know are connected to a me-centered (or others-centered) hope: stress, impatience, frustration, worry, lack of prayer.
And instead of shifting to self-condemnation, lift my eyes to marvelous hope: “God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong...therefore, at it is written: let the one that boasts boast in the Lord.”

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“I just need one more peek before bed to make my heart happy.” I paused in the hallway, opening the closet door to admire yesterday’s effort. Where disorganized books and paper had spilled over each other, now there were nicely folded towels and neat rows of toilet paper. Some pay admission to an art museum to let their soul soak in beauty, but a well organized closet does the trick for me.
Rest.
Comfort.
Beauty.
All those things- and more- tucked away in a hall closet.
Standing there, door knob in hand, a verse tiptoed across the hallway of my mind. “Behold the beauty of the Lord”. If I find this joy and refreshment in this little bit of order, how much more joy and refreshment is waiting in the seeing the God who ordered animal families, designed plant species, lined up my vertebrae?
Stillness is not my speciality. Oh, definitely the stillness in front of a BBC series or holding a new book. But not the stillness of dwelling. Of reflecting. Of quieting my mind to focus on one thing: to stand in front of the character of God. Beholding his goodness. Wondering on his greatness. Celebrating his grace.
There won’t always be well-organized closets and cabinets ready to give me a pick-me-up, one last self-congratulatory pat on the back before I crawl into bed. But the beauty of the Lord- it's always there. Always here. No matter what circumstances swirl around, I can linger for a moment over His beauty. My soul can find rest and satisfaction in his accomplishments. My organization loving self can delight in his sovereignty.
We were made to enjoy the glimpses and replications of his character wherever it is- even a closet. But I need to remember that this little joy is meant to point back to a greater glory, a greater wonder, a greater satisfaction. And thankfully, it’s a satisfaction that will still be there even in the messy closet seasons of life. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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New Years rolls in as fresh as my almost-three year old on a power trip. I’m a dreamer imagining all that can be; a procrastinator embracing a restart; a list-lover seduced by grand ideas black-inked across a new journal. Even though I’ve traded bold resolution writing for slow growing habits, the first of January is, as always, distractingly beautiful. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ -

But reality quickly returns. There’s nothing like seven months pregnant to tone down expectations, the impending sleeplessness narrowing focus on one great hope: make it to the end of the year with kindness and grace intact. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ -

I’ve spent many New Years hoping in my strength, but this year I’m more aware than ever of my human frailty, my desperate need for grace. I’m much more comfortable penning lists that rely on my own strength, ingenuity, time management and self discipline; more familiar believing the answer is waiting in better planning and follow through. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ -

But here in this place of knowing I am not enough is a certain freedom. A sliver of excitement. The unknowns aren’t quite as scary next to the one great known that rules them all: “My grace is sufficient for you, and my strength is made perfect in weakness.” ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ -

So this year’s resolution? More rest in Christ’s finished work, less restlessness in my unfinished work.

“No! Those are MY marbles!”
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// “Do you think more marbles are going to make you happier?” I ask the deeply offended, marble stock-piling child
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// Because I know how often I believe it, too. More stuff, more money, more time, more this, more that. I start to believe that happiness is connected to things. When really, true contentment and satisfaction is connected to a person, the perfect living, finished work, shared life of Jesus. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
// I need this reminder every day just as much as any little boys arguing over marbles. //⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Read the rest of this over on the blog. Find the link 👆🏻

“Today is just a bad day”. _________________
I glance up, surprised he heard my epic, under-the-breath sigh. It’s been an interruption tumbling after interruption morning. That kind of morning that leaves me wishing for a giant red RESTART button I could slam with all this pent up frustration.
______________________
He is at the table engrossed in a book, but clearly not missing out on the sound effects of a Mom watching a child’s dropped apple juice splash across the kitchen floor. I may not be a “yeller” but my sigh is probably just as loud. Just as clearly announcing: MOM ISN’T HAPPY.
______________________
The juice dumping child wasn’t out to get me, out to ruin my morning, mess up my day. But sometimes all these interruptions feel like an attack on my sanity. And you can always trust a child to sense truth. They say dogs and babies know character, and motherhood sure tops marriage as a revealer-of-the-soul. These children are mind readers.
_______________________
His comment is a gentle jolt. A reminder. My emotional responses are windows into my heart: what is a good day? A successful month? A well-kept house? These emotions show my expectations. This is how a well-raised kid behaves. This is how kind husband talks. This what a good mom does.

_____________________
Every single day my living tells these three little boys: this is what life is about. And what do I want them see? To think a good day rests on accomplishment and success? Peace and pleasure?
_______________________
Or do I want them to know: joy and peace, rest and purpose are found in the unchanging goodness and nearness of God? Do I want them to see in the unexpected everyday living: Jesus was enough then and He is enough now? And I know for them to see it- I have to believe it.

“I have my own way I like to chop onions” he says from his spot next to the sink.

______

An eight year old who enjoys both raw onions and helping in the kitchen. I should be delighted, right? But instead I am fighting that slight inward cringing. His original onion cutting style sends useable onion chunks into the trash, mixed in with the peels. It leaves out the beautiful little ringlets.
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I’ve shown him my style, learned years ago chopping piles of onions in a camp kitchen. It’s fast. Efficient. I could just move in, reminding him to turn the onion the other way, slice in a different direction.
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But I love his initiative to look through cabinets, finding all his favorite burrito fillings himself. I like his growing confidence with a sharper knife, his willingness to help, his problem solving. Much of our day is filled with correction, instruction, redirection. While it’s all a part of childhood, there is also a valuable place in childhood for creativity and experimentation, right? That part of childhood so quickly squashed by my wanting constantly clean floors and well-chopped onions. Stifled by my perfectionism.

______
So I let it go. If the cost of creativity and confidence is half an onion, it’s worth it. Besides, what has perfectionism ever brought me? Second guessing, holding back, doubting, seeing my value through the lense of achievement and accomplishment. Not exactly the legacy I want to pass on to my children. A good work ethic? Yes, please. A teachable spirit & humility? Absolutely. But also room to try and fail. To not constantly seek praise, affirmation, rules that guarantee success.
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I’ll just add more onions to our shopping list.

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“I don’t know what to do with you!!”
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His childish immaturity collides with my mothering vulnerabilities, emotion one-upping emotion. My frustration spills out in words, all over him. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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Or is it all frustration? Maybe more pride. Insecurity. I’m overwhelmed by my limited knowledge. Clinging to sky-high expectations for us both, a grown woman and this fast changing boy. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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Regret floods the moment those words leave my lips. Motherhood brings me places where I don’t know the next step. EVERY SINGLE DAY. And I’m a planner. A read-through-the-directions-ahead-of-time person. A know-the-next-ten-steps person. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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No matter how much I read, study, pray, pick brains, I find myself back here when I least expect it. Surprised by him; surprised by me. Unsure. Lost in my inadequacy. Missing the bar I set for myself. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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Who says I’m supposed to know it all? Why do I cling to this facade? Motherhood isn’t a performance for my kids, or anyone else either. Someday this will be them, searching for the best response, wondering about the next step. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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Maybe a greater gift than perfection or know-it-all-ism is showing them how to live in a world filled with unknowns. And while I didn’t ask for this opportunity, it’s a moment to model humility. To show them how to search for wisdom, how to make peace with our humanness and rest in God’s everything-ness.

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“How do people get so evil?” he asks. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀-⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
We’ve finished a children’s book set in World War II. Twenty french children not much older than himself, bravely hiding 10 Jewish refugees from the Nazis, sparked multiple questions. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀-⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
One question I struggle to answer. Explaining a selfish streak, a jealous heart, angry words is one thing. I mean, those dot our every day. Explaining a hatred so strong it killed over six million innocents is another. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀-⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
He’s seen the news, discussed North Korea and Iran. But these soldiers hunting for children like himself went a little deeper. He’d read their names, heard them play their games, imagined them hiding in fear. How could someone reach evil so awful they hunted children?⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀-⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
I’m still wrestling with words to explain this darkness. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀-⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
These days where my big goals are brushed teeth, dry underwear, and decreased complaining, I easily forget the dark world they will see and hear and walk through. Every parenting stage brings responsibilities that somehow didn’t make my “some-day-when-I’m-a-mom” dreams. Like these questions!
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But while I struggle to find just the right words, I’ll know faithful everyday living helps answer the questions. I’ll remember the love and safety they feel now will live with them forever. They say bankers recognize the fake stuff because they’ve spent so much time with the real. Now I have these quickly disappearing years to show them beautiful truth and meaningful living. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀-⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
So here's to a day believing little things matter. Believing that walking my children to the Light of the World prepares them for the unknown darkness. Because if there's one thing our book reminded us, it's that light only shines brighter as the dark gets deeper.