small things

 

“if you are faithful in little things ...” 
~ luke 16:10

silverware soaked                    story read                          fingernails clipped

 dryer lint removed       stain scrubbed              green apple sliced

    
  syrup blob wiped   

cake batter stirred          note left              joke heard. again

          dry cleaning picked up                

                                                                library books dropped off 

socks matched                         towels folded                              shoulders rubbed

                       ball game watched                               seatbelt buckled

neck hugged            dog walked              floor swept                    piano played      

soup poured            weeds pulled            ball tossed

                           hinges oiled                 car washed                roses trimmed

shoelaces tied                                   hair braided                               head kissed

                                                                                           ... family loved                                  

"let me get that, mom." my almost 16-year-old son grabbed hold of the trash bag which was beginning to tear. he took it from my arms, hardly breaking his teenage stride on the way out the door. there was no glance back for approval. no waiting for his mother's words of praise. no looking for my nod of affirmation. my boy simply walked out the back door with the garbage.

and there's really no way to tell you -- to tell him -- how much that means to a mother.

i'm flat out of words when it comes to those little-ordinary-every-day-love-acts.

i mean there's nothing special about my son taking out the trash. in fact, he's supposed to. that's one of his everyday chores -- one of the things we just expect him to do. all my children have their lists: make beds, clean bathrooms, walk dog, fold laundry, sweep floors. they know what is needed to keep this wild place running. they know they are what's needed!

many hands make light work and all that yada-yada jazz ...

but still.

it's the little things which matter most -- and it's not just the little acts of serving, but the little acts of loving as well. if you ask me, these two present participles kind of mix and mingle a bit.

at least, they should.

sisters curled up on a couch reading. a dishwasher emptied (without bribes, threats or arm twisting). a handful of dandelions carried in from the yard. a boy brushing out the dog. gas in my car. an extra gallon of milk brought home just in time for dinner. "i thought we might need this." in our home, we are always in need of milk.

there isn't extraordinary effort in these ordinary acts, but there doesn't need to be. because the small things have a way of adding up to something big. love.

isn't that what we women spend the first part of our marriages explaining to our husbands? it's not about the dozen roses on anniversary evenings. it's not about the size of the diamond or the swanky dinner place or even the tropical island.

{not that, mind you, there's anything wrong with roses, diamonds, swanky dinner places or tropical islands} ...

BUT ... it's about our man taking time to vacuum out the mini van or flip the pancakes or hunt for the missing shoe. it's about him bringing a hot cup of coffee to the morning porch ... bringing two cups of coffee ... bringing coffee even when the man doesn't drink coffee.

small gestures. simple gifts. unassuming graces.

life isn't about chasing the big glitz ... it's about cherishing the tiny glimmer.

and, like it or not, most of life is lived in the glimmer -- the glance. the dash. the dot. the pause ...

as we begin to wind up the string of our summer, it occurs to me that what i love most about this season is the stringing of simple things. it's about the collection of nothing majorly important:  red strawberries ... golden retriever asleep in the sun ... black-eyed susans smiling in a jelly jar ... little gal in her swim goggles ... orange petunias ... loon on water ... teenagers loud in the house ... charcoal grill smoking ... summer rain tapping ... brown eggs in blue bowl ... a screened in porch ... watermelon sliced ... weeds pulled .... a sprinkler's hum ... blueberries ... a game of cards ... tan lines ... late night movies ... popcorn ... tire swing ... freckled noses ... ferns ... bird song ...

the list could go on. you know it could.

we've done our share of traveling this summer. it's all been lovely and fun ... and busy. but in between the arriving and departing, we've shared my favorite part -- the days of doing practically nothing. the time in our home when we just shlunck around from one seemingly insignificant activity to another: blowing bubbles, cutting hydrangeas, petting the dog, baking chocolate chip muffins. slicing tomatoes. you know what i mean  -- the small stuff.

it's not just what strings summer together in delight ... it's what strings life together.

it is easy to count all the big things we've been through ... the large things we've endured or encountered or experienced. we list them all and tally them up like some kind of lifestyle resume -- the big trips we've taken or the big travels we've had or the big tickets we've booked.

often people get to the end of these big things and find they are simply not enough -- they are too light, too little, too too empty in their enormity. we might long for the next larger-than-life-moment, but, the truth is, we live amidst the little stuff of the in-between.

and whether we're five or fifty, that's just the way it is.

that, by the way, has nothing to do with being small minded, but it has everything to do with being mindful of the small.

sometimes life does explode gloriously in the big plans, but mostly it settles beautifully in the small pauses.

our truest moments are found in slicing oranges, sweeping crumbs and matching socks. even those of you with lives much more glamorous than mine, you, too, live life in this everyday space. we can talk about the next big thing or the last big thing or some big thing ... but when we add up the real minutes of real living, it's simply about a string of small stuff.

and that's okay.

in fact, that's really good.

"enjoy the little things,
for one day you may look back 
and realize they were the big things."    ~ robert brault

today: let's challenge ourselves to take a treasure hunt for the tiny. savor the simple moment at your kitchen counter or out in your backyard. look past the large plans and peer intentionally into the present  -- into the pause of right-this-very-minute.

if we are willing to hold open our hands to the small, we just might find something we didn't know we had lost.

but don't just take my word for it. let's look into God's word:

because clearly, God blesses the simple. in fact, He uses the simple. time and again, He employs small stuff to tell big stories with even bigger outcomes -- outcomes which show His incredibly large love. and, guess what? often these big stories started with very small beginnings:

let there be light.

                            man formed from dust                                      woman from a rib

                     the bite of an apple               two of every animal

a dove returning                     a rainbow promising                stuttering moses    

                              a boy with a sling shot

                                                                        a virgin mother
                                         simple carpenter
                  babe in a manger         a donkey                
 a wooden boat

two fish

five loaves of bread

                 the rough wooden cross                      a stone 

friend, don't let the idea of doing something big, even something big for God, get in the way of serving Him in something small. i've seen that happen. we so desperately want to do grand stuff with the gifts God's given, that we pass by perfect everyday opportunities.

yes, some days are water-to-wine kind of days. most days, though, aren't about miracles, but about simple moments.

in matthew 19, Jesus, in judea is surrounded by "large crowds."  He has the perfect audience. He has their perfect attention, heck, Jesus has perfect platform! this was prime opportunity to whip out a miracle and snag a few more followers. the time was ripe for some kind of grandiose something, but Jesus, instead of employing His supernatural power, uses His gentle voice to say what wasn't expected,"let the little children come to me ..."

this little moment is nestled between the pharisees badgering Jesus about huge issues like divorce and adultery and the disciples asking about wealth and eternal life ... but in the middle of all their questions and serious discussion, Jesus stops.

Jesus pauses.

Jesus puts aside all the puffed up important men and, instead, invites the little ...

overlooked opportunity? missed miracle? i don't think so.

"there are many of us that are willing to do great things for the Lord, 

 but few of us are willing to do little things." 

                                     ~ dwight l. moody

by the way, just this morning i ordered jeff goins' new book "the in-between."  check it out! i haven't read the book yet, but i'm in his "tribe writers" group and i really like what this guy has to say. i'm pretty sure he's chatting about the same topic as today's post. can't wait to read!   http://goinswriter.com/inbetween/

a few small  favorites from our summer ...

4th of july flowers from my yard -- pickle jar vase!

more gifts from the yard ... those big pink blooms are peonies. 

the gift of giving

"it is more blessed to give than to receive."  ~ luke 20:35

it is the hours before christmas and i think this just might be my favorite part -- the wild
beat of anticipation.   oh how i love it.  and how i love watching it billow up and blow
warm through my children.  in these hours of waiting i hear them toss around phrases like, "i can't wait until we build the gingerbread houses" and "i can't wait to light the christmas eve candles and sing silent night." and i get questions like, "mama, did you remember our christmas eve pajamas?"  never a year has been missed, but yet they ask, even the very oldest,  because they are still children and they want to be sure and, even more, they want to be reminded of the good things which will soon come.  they want to anticipate, to long for the lovely. and it tickles my mother-heart because i know it is evidence of some kind of sweet remembering nestled deep in this growing up brood of mine.

one part of these days before christmas which i especially treasure, is watching the pile of presents grow under our tree.  the children fill its space with the things they bring.  you might think that a  rather shallow and strange statement.  and you might even ask why in the world i would admit this, let alone, write it.  but let me explain:  it is not about the presents and it is not about what is inside those oddly shaped gifts, but about watching my children GIVE. it is about watching them stop clasping what is theirs and start opening their hands to each other.  hearts soften and unlatch in the act of giving -- in the art of gifting.  i watch them parade through my kitchen with small boxes and big bags and an assortment of presents pieced together with too much tape and remnants of cast off wrapping. they head for the tree, carefully bringing their carefully selected treasures.  and as the mother standing by, i love this christmastime coming and going. i observe them doing something which doesn't come naturally -- they are giving.  and what's more, they are enthusiastic in their giving.  in the few days before christmas, they all scurry around trying to buy that certain something special for sisters and brothers and mom and dad. it is almost a rite of passage,  heading off to target or the mall with their allowance clutched tight in hand or jingling loose in pocket.   and when they return, triumphant, i can hear them up in their rooms sharing tape and scissors across the cluttered hallway.  shouting at each other,"don't come in here.  don't you dare look!  go away...i'm wrapping!" there is an energy in the house which, at least for a little while, doesn't have anything to do with what's in it for me? no, this is about pouring themselves into something which will be placed under an evergreen and then given away.  

these are no gifts of the magi.  some years, the presents set under the branches are wrapped in leftover paper from birthdays or baby showers. bows are always optional.  sometimes the children forget to add tags, and come christmas morning, we have to play guess that gift.  my middle girl, sarah, loves to wrap and she'll hunt for extra bits and pieces to attach to her gifts -- a small ornament, a piece of pine, some jingle bells, a cinnamon stick.  she puts great amounts of time into preparing these presents.  and i love this about her.  but again, it is not about what hides inside...at least not what hides inside the gift wrap. but it is about what hides inside the hearts of my children. it is about the glimmer in their eye and that hint in their heart unravelling and unwrapping as they bring their gifts. and like the wise men, sometimes they must travel from afar to bring things.  bringing gifts isn't always easy.  in a world which promotes everything ME, it is downright difficult for our kids (who am i kidding), it is downright difficult for all of us to consider others first.  but oh what can happen when we do!  there is the joy-- the christmas joy.  the real joy.

years ago, we began the tradition of encouraging our children to think of each other on christmas.  they were just tiny, tiny things when all this began, barely able to see over the counters. we would take them to the dollar store and let them pick items out for our family.  we never questioned their purchases.  never questioned the animal figurines or the plastic flowers.  needless to say, we've all gotten some rather strange things over the years.  but oh the delight in the giving.  that's what we want to grow in them.   not the need for the perfect and most practical present, but the joy of stopping to think of another and the thrill of giving from the heart.   as the kids have gotten older, we've tried to suggest things homemade.  i am always telling them those things mean the most. of course they raise their bewildered eyebrows in disapproval.  no mom, i disagree. a homemade blah-blah-blah is absolutely not better than this marshmallow-shooting-thing-a-ma-gig-cool-one-of-a-kind-contraption. i try to tell them there's no need to go spend allowance money, but be creative:  build, paint, mold, sketch, glue, carve, capture something...what a wonderful opportunity.  clearly, i am a mother. and they go and gather the dollar bills they've squirreled away and head to the closest shopping mall.

my sister, just this week, sent us homemade sugar cookies in a tin all the way from oregon.  when we unwrapped them i got kind of teary-eyed.  i realize they were only sugar cookies, but my youngest sister's hands created these cookies in the warmth of her kitchen, probably with her own three little ones perched on stools nearby.  mixing. rolling.  helping. giving. my sister who lives over 2500 miles away.  my sister who i hardly ever see and won't see this christmas.  and perhaps it is a sign of me getting old, but i loved getting homemade cookies this week from her.  i didn't even realize how much i miss my family, until opening that tin.  with us staying put this christmas and no extended family coming, i needed that touch of my sister -- that gift of her giving. it may have been a small tin, but it largely unwrapped some warmth in my heart.

someday my children will bring christmas gifts not from their bedrooms, but from their own homes.  maybe with small ones of their own hanging from elbows and attached at their knees.  i am full aware my five will someday scatter -- i hope not too far.  but we'll want them to go -- to get on with what God has designed them to do.  if it is down the street or two towns over, we'll be thrilled.  and if it is across the country or on the other side of the world, we'll have to accept that as well. (big sigh).  but now, this morning, this year, this christmas, i have them all in my home.  they sleep upstairs as i write, tired from these christmas days.  my always prayer, that while in our home, they are learning to give from the heart...and when they leave some day, they'll take with them the act of giving, art of gifting, the sweet blessing unwrapping.

(one of my favorite stories about giving....)

A wise woman who was traveling in the mountains found a precious stone in a stream. The next day she met another traveler who was hungry, and the wise woman opened her bag to share her food. The hungry traveler saw the precious stone and asked the woman to give it to him. She did so without hesitation. The traveler left, rejoicing in his good fortune. He knew the stone was worth enough to give him security for a lifetime. But a few days later he came back to return the stone to the wise woman.

"I've been thinking," he said, "I know how valuable the stone is, but I give it back in the hope that you can give me something even more precious. Give me what you have within you that enabled you to give me the stone."  
 ~ the wise woman's stone  -- author unknown

breathing. seeing. counting.

just a month before cancer my sweet friend, karen, made me aware of a significant book - One Thousand Gifts.  i was taken with it.  head over heels.  completely smitten.  so much so,  i even wrote a review type piece in my Being Still blog, because it seemed one of those treasures i just had to share.  i couldn't help myself.  i bought copies and mailed them off across the country to the females in my family...i left copies on the doorsteps of friends... i cornered anyone i could about this book....i even convinced a group of women to take it on as our next bible study.  and we did.  in fact, we meet again tonight.


i read a lot of books each year.  it is just what i do.  i am pretty sure God isn't thrilled with every novel i pick up or every non-fiction piece i add to my bedside pile.  but i have this hunch He made certain this book was securely in my hands one month before my diagnosis.  ann voskamp is not only brilliant and eloquent, but she's encouraging.  i connected with her writing immediately.  she is a farmer's wife, a mother of six and a lover of beauty. all wonderful things to be sure.  but as much as i like her and think we'd be fast friends, it is the task she set before me which has been most inspiring.  she was dared by a friend to assemble a list of 1000 gifts:  simple blessings she found in the context of her day -- her daily day.  yes, even in her farm-and-mother-life drudgery.  she bought a journal and took the dare and with pen in hand, went hunting through her ordinary moments -  recording the treasures she came across -- one word, one image, one gift at a time.   they weren't all pollyanna-perfect, some of the things she put down on paper were hard.  hard and hurtful,  but this gal named ann deemed them blessing still.   i was wooed with her writing and challenged by this thinking.  i certainly had been taught to count my blessings - even to, as the sunday school song suggested, name them one by one.  and i did.  i do.  but there was something more in this task.  there was the chance to see all the way through to the beauty of things.  things which at first blush were anything but beautiful.


and then there was the listing.  writing things down takes effort.  it is easy to stand in the midst of my disorderly days and nod my head approvingly at things i like....at trinkets which catch my fancy and baubles which win my womanly affection.  that is nice and good and sweet.  but what about holding a pen in my hand and a journal on my lap and bending the back in effort to put ink hard to the paper?  what about pausing the great rush long enough to accomplish this treasure-recording? what about the muscle required to do this day after day, moment after moment, gift after gift? that doesn't sound hard at first.  but what about when the novelty wears off and the three year old hangs on and the journal goes missing and the ink pen dries up and the dinner is burning.  what about then?  you know what i mean.  we've all started lists and resolutions and goals only to find ourselves waning and weighted with the sag of routine.   when the shine dulls and the spark dims the quest takes on a different monotony.   a burdensome doing.  this has been the story of my life.  it is, in fact,  the story of life.

so i write all this tonight to tell you i have a journal.  it is blue.  it goes with me most places.  though i have to confess, i am not quite so picky about my writing instrument.  living in a household of seven, i am often challenged to come up with any instrument of writing.   admittedly, i am a mother who has scribbled out many a grocery list or school note or birthday card in orange crayon -- i use what i find.  and there's blessing in the finding of even an orange crayon.  anyway, i too,  have a list going of 1000 gifts.  i discover them in my day.  they are scattered across the cluttered rooms of our home and in the piles of stuff all around our life.  i find them better each day because i am willing to search.  i am looking.  i find them in the chaos and confusion, as much as i find them in the quiet and the calm.


i started my list on march 22.  i have to say, it was going quite well for me.  i was kind of proud of my ambitious hunting.  even kind of proud of myself.  i took great delight in the way it was coming along, all the while enjoying the challenge and encouraging others.  i was writing easily.  deliberately.  vehemently.   and then on april 19th i heard the word cancer.  cancer brought quite a bit in my household to a halt.  i mean we all kind of Just Stopped.  we couldn't progress any further in anything, it seemed.  not in our laundry or lunch dates or laughter or even in our lists.   we were stuck.  i was stuck.  stuck right there under the frightening and forceful thumb of cancer and no wiggling or will was allowing us breath or escape.  at least not for while.  that is how it felt.  i had stacks of things on my desk...piles of things in my life to address.  a long list of items carefully written under the title To Do.  but there was nothing To Do and nothing got done.  and when i looked at my pretty blue journal sitting neglected on my counter, it made me want to weep.  i finally placed it in a drawer.  i could stand it not one minute more.  i had fallen under the crush of cancer and there seemed to be no possibility for the recording of blessing.


but then something happened.  it wasn't all of a sudden.   just small things....  glimpse of baby girl's brown eyes.  unexpected hug from teenage son.  bird song.  lavender. friend at back door with a meal.  perfect blue of hydrangea.  pink morning light framed in window above dish-dirty sink.  medication.   praying doctor.  gentle husband.  teen girl clearing dinner plates.  fingers deep in spring soil.  rain.  bandaid's calm on angry stubbed toe.  notes and cards arriving daily. my sister's long distance voice. thunder at three am....and there was the old breathing again.  i began to breath and then i began to look.   and when i began to look, i began to see.  and the listing came next.  i felt the cloud lifting.  slowly.  like morning fog which hangs around until well past noon.  little by little the gray was traded for blue.  i peeked into that closed drawer of my desk.  my heart.  my soul.  ever so slightly. and i picked up that journal again and i held it in my hands and i read the things already written and the fog moved even further.  i watched its leaving.  and then finally i began to write.  i began my gift-hunting and the old delight rose up in me.  the cancer wasn't gone, but the blessings were found.


i have continued to write and record.  not everyday do i list.  because somedays i can't.  there are certainly days when my eyes won't meet those of my waiting, blue journal.  i find myself at times stuck and stopped and blank. because that is how life comes in hard times...in hard places.  we walk through and climb over in tiny steps.  steps which require pausing and stopping.  there is breath to catch and muscle to flex.  we are often lightheaded and weary.  and we need our moments.  but i am finding even these interruptions can allow for some seeing.  we need only be willing.  this has not been a time for me of great leaping.  i am a woman taking small steps these days.  something new.  but in this smallness i find myself even more apt to see.  we see when we slow.  and i have slowed.


God is good.  He encourages me in the very grand and the most minute.  and both are needed.  perfect fingerprint of my 8 year old on a window pane to our deck.  almost wiped away with a spray of windex and a swoosh of efficient towel.  but i stop.  i see. design of sand on our deck from little girl sandbox.  mother-on-mission ready to spray it fast and furious...but first stopping and seeing and thanking and yes, even recording.  i can give thanks for the gift of small child from china in our sandbox this june.  she is here.  it may be a small scattering of sand but a very large blessing when i truly look.  when i take time to see.  and living is about seeing.  we forget that sometimes.  even in our health and our wealth and our continual comforts.  maybe you don't require a blue journal and an orange crayon...maybe you stop all on your own accord.  i applaud you if this is possible. but for this slowed woman i find myself dependent.  i find myself in need.  and i can find myself thankful.  but only if i look.


that is my encouragement this evening: take time to see.  go hunting.  journal in pocket and pencil in hand.  maybe.  but clear eyes of the mind and the heart and the will.  even when we find ourselves bent double in the hard grip of life, there is something to see.  sometimes it is in the glorious looking up.  and sometimes it is in the desperate looking down.   there is seeing in both.  we need only be willing to look.