Marvelous Mundane

Home Blog Instagram Facebook

Home Blog Instagram Facebook

Marvelous Mundane

Contact Us

We look forward to hearing from you!

Name *

Name

First Name

Last Name

Email Address *

Subject *

Message *

Thank you!

“No! Those are MY marbles!”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
// “Do you think more marbles are going to make you happier?” I ask the deeply offended, marble stock-piling child
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
// 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.
______
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.
______
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.
______
I’ll just add more onions to our shopping list.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
“I don’t know what to do with you!!”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
His childish immaturity collides with my mothering vulnerabilities, emotion one-upping emotion. My frustration spills out in words, all over him. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
-
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. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
-
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. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
-
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. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
-
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. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
-
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.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
“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!
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀-⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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.

“I didn’t hear the timer,” he says, though his hesitant, shifting gaze tells me otherwise.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
My first feeling is frustration. Again? What about the clear guidelines, the easily understood consequences? But half a moment later, I’m remembering this isn’t an annoyance; it’s an opportunity.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
“We need to talk,” I tell him, and soon we are sitting close together on our gray couch. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
“We all feel this sometimes. We all want something that makes us ignore what’s right, do wrong, and even lie. Some people want money. Some people love power. And sometimes, it’s just because we want something that will make us feel good. We want something that looks like a lot more fun than doing right.”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
He listens and nods, the nod that means, “just get this done so I can get on with my life”. I may have secretly hoped this was a tear jerking, come-to-Jesus moment, but this little conversation between two calm people is a good step for both of us. Why has it taken me so long to see opportunity instead of a battlefield? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
“There was only one person in all earth’s history who chose right every single time. It’s not going to be you or me. And he gives us his life and power!”. Another nod, and he is running off to find his brothers.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
This conversation is a small piece in this lifelong parenting puzzle. It’s a conversation that will happen many times. I know, because I can count how many times this happens in my life: every day. How many glittering lies have I run after? How many shimmering idols standing in my heart? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
The frustration always fades when I remember- we are on this journey together. We both need hearts continually brought back to the beauty and sufficiency of Jesus. Every single day.y

“Is my heart really convinced of God’s goodness?”
-
Driving down a dark, unlit road on this Canadian island, the stars seem twice as bright. They seem closer, too, momentarily pulling me away from my slippery slope of choice: overthinking.
-
There is no vacation so magical it wipes away every unspoken fear & nagging worry. -
But something about the dark sky’s twinkling artwork always catches my attention, always gabs ahold of my heart. -
The one who made these stars loves me.
-
And some moments, as my mind travels those well-worn, twisting paths, I drift away from awe and confidence.
-
But the greatest mark of God’s goodness isn’t a healthy child, a well-behaved child, a well-rested child. It was his coming to earth as a child. -
The greatest experience of God’s goodness isn’t a loving spouse or a longed-for dream. It’s the Jesus-given gift of ears to hear him, eyes to see him, an eternity to know him.

On the blog today: when you think you don’t have a story to tell. -
I never dreamed of becoming a writer. -
I never imagined my name gracing New York Times best-seller lists, lining shelves at Barnes and Noble.
-
Oh, there’s the green notebook full of scribbled stories from seven year old me.
-
The letters bursting from boxes stacked in the basement, memories of far-reaching pen-pals.
-
Duct-tape wrapped journals dripping with teenage angst and emotion.
-
Words have always held a fascination, a special magneetism.
-
And I'm long convinced words hold the power to change a life. -
My own small world draws boundaries around our limitless God. My experiences build tiny boxes: this is how God shows up. I get stuck in ruts of my own digging, mindsets muddying glory and blinding hope. -
I’m lost in the blur of busyness, eyes tight to the ground, heart turned from heaven. I’m up to my neck in overwhelming mundane, drowning in unmet expectation, mourning those disappearing desires
-
Your story reminds me how God reaches across the heavens and inhabits the earth with love for His creation. He is not far-off. He is not waiting. He is not silent. He is here.
-

NEW blog post today! Link 👆🏻
-
You probably know that moment just as well as I do.
-
That moment the kids run out to find their bikes just before you need to leave, dressed in the clothes laid out the night before. -
You are thankful for this quiet minute to brush your teeth, double check your bag, walk out the door glancing at the clock knowing you’ll be right on time. And maybe even early.
-
And then you hear the yell. The yell you know fluently because you hear it every day. Around the corner dash two soaking wet boys. -
That hose stretched across the lawn pulled them in like a magnet: one is soaking by choice, the other is dripping by another’s choice. He’s the yelling one.
-
These are the moments I surprise myself. How did my voice get so loud? Where did this anger come from? -
Is it because I’m looking around to find my own worth, searching for value down the never-ending paths of accomplishment?
-
My mental script needs a giant rewrite, a bold-painted reminder brushed across every page: today is filled with opportunities to show their worth and show them Jesus.

- I’m sitting on the hardwood bedroom floor, running my fingers through a yellow Lego box, thinking another moment sifting will inspire a masterpiece.
- The little boys next to me need no such help. The younger one scatters waves of blocks with his Lego speed boat, the older one proudly holds up his one-of-a-kind car for my praise
-
My body may be inches away from these boys playing next to me, but my mind flies miles away and years ahead. -
The swirls in my head aren’t just urgent questions and necessary decision making: my mind drifts to places I’d rather be, people I’d rather see. My imagination constructs future conversations, someday accomplishments.
-
To find the place where dreaming doesn’t remove my heart from fully the life in front of me, I don’t need to give up dreaming entirely: I need a dream filter. -
Because daydreaming doesn’t always fall into the black and white spaces of right and wrong. It meanders through the paths of inspirational, fantasy, life-changing and time wasting. So it falls on us to decide: does this piece of dreaming fit into faithfully living out this piece of life?
-
New blog post today!