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. 

when summer arrives

the first day of summer officially arrived in our home this week.

and let's be honest, though we've all longed for it since march, it's actual arrival brings an incredible mixture of both blessing and brutality.  the children might very well whoop and holler all the way home from the last hour of school, but the mothers behind the wheels of their minivans all seem to have that deer in the headlights look.

on wednesday the last of our kiddos wrapped up their final exams and the backpacks and notebooks and school supplies were all piled high in one giant heap on my office floor. the school year was over, and summer begun.

just like that.

in a blink of my twitching eye, the school bell stops ringing and the vacation chaos begins.

it happens so fast and i find myself standing in the kitchen watching five children and all their summertime accoutrements descend ravenously upon my home and for a moment (or several hours...or maybe days) i wonder to myself, "how in the world am i ever going to keep them busy all summer long?"

because it takes less than five minutes for them to leave muddy footprints and dirty dishes and backdoors wide open.  it takes less than five minutes for the sister bickering to begin and the boy wrestling to ensue and the little one to need a third fruit snack or another cartoon.

my hands begin to shake and my heart begins to race and i desperately dash to the office cabinet for supplies. i grab rulers and different colored sharpies and leftover poster board from school year projects.  and i attempt to bring some kind of order to this already circus-like scene setting up camp under my roof.  it's only hour one of them all at home and i am already creating columns and lines and lists.  chore charts and summer reading charts and dog walking charts to calm the shake and rattle and race of this wild woman facing her five children alone on this, the first official day of summer.

it is like this every year.

there is this time of transition as we move from being so busy we don't know what to do to having so much time on our hands we don't know what to do.  no one slips into summertime easily in my home.  especially not me.  it takes a whole new mama-perspective when summer waltzes in.  keeping my eyes half closed helps a little.  playing music loudly and shutting bedroom doors and pretending not to hear every "mo-ahhh-om!"... those things help, too.   i simply cannot spend my entire day flitting around and addressing every unmade bed, unkept corner or unsettled sibling.  i have to tell myself (many times a day, in fact) it doesn't matter.  let them enjoy this much needed freedom.  let them figure it out on their own. i don't need to referee or regulate every argument or item in this house. routine isn't necessary and rules aren't all that important at the very start of summer. right?

don't get me wrong, i adore summer.  i really do.  it's just the great figuring-it-all-out-at-first which challenges me.  i look at summer and think about all the free time we have and for me that translates into all kinds of things we now have time to do....or get on top of...or organize...or accomplish...or attempt.  i want my kids to sit down and write out their summer goals (is "summer goals" an oxymoron or what?) i want them to creatively create a creative summer 2013 bucket list in their best handwriting.  here kids, use these stickers to decorate!  and we'll put that up on the bulletin board right next to the summer reading book list and the famous summer chore chart.

 isn't every child anticipating the chance to devour 20 new books between june and august?

can't we do educational bridge work every morning and happily take turns emptying out the always running dishwasher or clothes washer?  how about we -- all six of us -- sit around the family room and fold laundry together for an afternoon of fun? sort socks and tell jokes. i just know we can make this summertime thing work...

because that's just it -- summer does take some work.  and the problem is,  it seems like it shouldn't.  it seems like summer should just be about picnics and pretty days. so, we mothers are caught in this juxtaposition of summertime contradiction.  there is something in us which believes we should be frolicking and fancy free with the wee ones. we should be lounging on neon colored rafts and drinking shimmery beverages poolside. we should be worried about nothing more than the color of our toenails or the slicing of a watermelon.  AND YET when five kids are home all summer, there is just so much more to manage! can i get an a-men?  i have mentioned before, i have no brady bunch alice showing up each day to keep us all afloat.  and so...that task falls squarely into the laps of mothers.  this is, by no means, a complaint. i mean only to point out something happening this week in millions of homes across america.  i mean it only for the encouragement of the sisterhood of motherhood in this right now happening summer-hood.

moms of america, it's okay to admit that summertime can cause us to dig deeply -- not just in the sandbox, not just in the burgeoning piles of laundry, but deep in ourselves. my best advice: don't be so hard on yourself.  i remember being a young mom of young children and finding myself disappointed in how summer days were sometimes going.  somehow, i thought everything about summer should be magical and beautiful and wonderful -- full of fireflies and butterflies and never-ending fun. who is spreading this myth, by the way? we wonder what's wrong with us and our children, thinking everyone else in the cul-de-sac is having the summer of their lives.  when our toddlers throw poolside tantrums or refuse to even get into the pool (after we've woken the baby, prepared healthy snacks, squeezed our motherly bodies into swimsuits and spent two hours packing up the car) we wonder what we're doing wrong.  we wonder why it feels so hard.  well, darling girl, sometimes it just is! even in the soft haze of a lovely summer's day.  it might be hard, but don't be hard on yourself.  do the best you can.  and remember, there are other mamas all across the land right there with you.

and by the close of summer day one in the mcnatt home,  i can tell you the dishes in the sink were piled precariously high and the shoes at the backdoor had multiplied exponentially; bella had bumped her head, skinned both knees and watched too many cartoons; we had visited the pediatrician's office for tyler's running injury; we had blown through a box of bandaids, a loaf of bread and two pitchers of lemonade; someone had stolen my kitchen shears and my very last square of dark chocolate; i had driven three 13 year old girls to the mall;  hauled my teenage son and his kayak to the lake; rescued teenage son and his kayak when it began to rain and thunder fifteen minutes later; and cleaned up some cat throw up.

oh yes, summer was officially here!

bella on her 7th hour of cartoons -- AND the dog up on the couch! WHAAAT?

i did make the dog get down from the couch -- after snapping the photo.  (of course)!

my final story to illustrate our illustrious first day of summer happened when i left tyler and bella at the house while running to the market for dinner late in the day. (just a few hours of summer and the cupboards were already bare). while there i got the famous summertime call from tyler, "mom, call me as fast as you can!" while he and bella were playing ball she fell back and hit her head on a chair.  heads bleed a lot and tyler did his very best to take care of it all.  i was at the market.  by the time i raced home she was happily perched on the couch watching little einsteins (yet another cartoon) and munching on goldfish crackers. all was fine. bella was okay.  the cut was not too bad and the bleeding had stopped. i thought about running into the pediatrician's office.  mind you, we had already been there once today, but was confident bella would be fine.  these kinds of things happen in our home -- especially in the summer! but i have to tell you that in the middle of all this drama, i was also receiving rapid texts from my unaware daughter (the one i had dropped at the mall with her friends).  as i was trying to discuss bella's head injury with tyler over the phone i was simultaneously fielding the following messages from 13 year old daughter:

"mom, can i please get my ears double pierced? plzzzzzzz."

"mom can i get a pink bedazzled phone case? it's so, so, so cute! plzzzzzz."

"OMG mom, we are at bath and body works and they have this product which bronzes your hair....and oh mom, can i get some and like it is so, so, so cool and the lady is putting it in our hair right now and it's like so, so, so great and it washes out...i promise...i'm sure...i think ....like, can i do it? can i get some, mom? plzzzzzz. "

folks! i tell you, this is the glorious stuff of summer!

and to think,  all i wanted was to pick up some chicken and green beans at the grocery store.  just in case you're wondering, my teenage daughter is now banned from the mall until she's 35.

so summer comes. not so softly. not so gently. not always so easily....but STILL there's this thing in all of us, mothers and children alike, which welcomes it eagerly and with great expectation.  i encourage you to embrace it and just accept the little truth that it won't be always kind and it just can't be completely smooth, but it will be strewn with moments of sweetness: a first bike ride without training wheels, a cartwheel mastered or a back dive perfected, sidewalk chalk messages from daughters to their dads, late night movies with big bowls of popcorn, board games that don't end because bedtime isn't important, watermelon in the yard and pink lemonade on the porch, bike rides and ball games and belly laughs...

so, load up on popsicles and bandaids.  turn up the music.  close the doors of messy bedrooms and close your eyes when needed.  learn to count to 10 or 100 or 1000 and take a deep breath.  mothers of america, unite!  the children will head back to their classrooms in a mere 80 days!

em cleaning out her junior year notebooks this morning!
lots and lots of paper.  bonfire anyone?

the longest summer (ev-ah)

"there shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart."  ~ celia thaxter

this past week, two of them started back.  next week, two more will go, and the following week, the fifth begins.  the school bell is ringing and the longest summer ever, is ending.  of course my feelings are mixed, as i write this morning.  i am a girl who has always embraced the back to school bustle.  i loved it when i was in 5th grade and i love it now as a mom of five.  don't get me wrong, it couldn't be crazier. the details are many, the supply lists are long, the forms are formidable.  we spend countless hours and hundreds of dollars in target readying the children with new markers and fancy binders and all that educational-jazz.  this year, my two oldest will be given ipads at high school and my 7th grader is also encouraged to bring an ipad to class for note taking.  yes, ipads. things certainly have changed since my own school days.  i remember in 7th grade being thoroughly impressed with the metallic cover on my spiral notebook and a pen which changed colors by clicking a button.

thankfully, this staggered leaving of my children does make the close of our summer-chapter a little more gentle.  slowly they are emptying out of my home and heading off into the world of learning.  the littlest girl will only be gone three days for preschool, and for that, i am glad.  she loves school like i've never seen a preschooler love school.  every day asking me, "when do i get to go, mom?" she knows her letters, can write her name and counts to 20 without a hiccup...this tiny girl is ready.  she'd probably like to take the ipad with her as well, but no, she gets a red book bag and some brand new crayons.

summer is over.  it is, however, a little hard to completely grasp that thought when we are still living a vacation kind of life.  i am certain the cold weather and piles of snow will snap us quickly into the correct (and serious) line of thinking.  but right now, i am not quite sure how to transition the children from lake-life to school bells and homework.  just a few mornings ago, i came close in failing to wake the kids up on time.  you see, there was this sunrise --- and it kind of emptied my mind of all mundane items, i.e., waking children for school. these lake sunrises hold power.  i come down every morning to something new.  each morning different.  always me, my coffee and my time with God...but every morning we've been in this house, the sun has greeted me in a new outfit.  always different.  always beautiful.  always i am startled.  i thought to myself today, "now, how in the world am i supposed to handle the average things of life with this right outside my window?"  will i ever grow tired of it?  will i ever walk past and not stop and stare?  from up in this house on the hill i am drawn to go down and sit on the dock.  i have spent many a morning in slippers and pajamas camped out at water's edge.  but now we must return to school:  make breakfast and pack lunches,  find socks and braid hair.  and getting five children ready and off to school takes every bit of my concentration.  i might just have to invest in some massive blinds to keep me on task come morning time.

this week the children have come home and headed straight for swimsuits and fishing poles.  they waste no time in shedding their school-ish things and stepping back into their leisure.  we love this.  i know for sure, come next week, tyler will be doing the very same thing.  i won't be surprised to see him in his kayak or with a fishing pole in hand before showering for high school.  where most freshmen on the first day of school (girls at least) will be carefully arranging hair, applying makeup and picking out perfect outfits, my soon-to-be-high-school son, just might smell like fish.  and strangely enough, i'm okay with that.

long summer fades finally away from our view...away from our sun-tanned hands and sunburnt noses.  we squeezed a lot from it though.  the children got out of school in mid-may as southerners and head back in late august/early september as northerners. that little logistic of the move worked in their favor.  they'll probably never again have a summer quite so long.  we've definitely added those extra weeks to the silver lining column.  it has been drawn out for other reasons beside the calendar though -- that goes without saying.  any of you who have been reading along in these past months know we've had some marathon moments to push through in the high heat of these days.  for me, summer has always meant something along the lines of footloose and fancy free:  bare feet in green grass, cold lemonade in hand, sprinklers on the lawn, beach towels and good books scattered around our house.  though we have had our share of sweetness, i probably wouldn't categorize this as our most carefree summer. not exactly.  thus my title:  the longest summer (ev-ah).

and so we end it.  this weekend officially will mark its close.  i have to be honest,  i kind of feel relieved.  yes, like, "whew...we made it."  that's the feeling i have sitting here this morning madly typing away.  and i know it will be the feeling when i watch my two teens drive off to high school next tuesday (oh. my. goodness!)...when i watch my junior high daughter and her elementary school brother climb out of our suv...even when i walk the littlest girl and her red book bag into her preschool classroom in two weeks.  "whew...we made it!"  we somehow survived the longest summer ever.  i mean i know this transition stuff isn't exactly over.  we've still got some things to get through.  emily will walk, as a junior, into a brand new school next week.  (yeah, THAT'S easy - not)...  and, for heaven's sake, tyler BEGINS high school next week...that's no small thing either.  we've got some stuff to do... some hurdles to jump...some bridges to cross.  we've got a new chapter to begin. change can be so, so hard, but isn't it also, sometimes good?  at least it's good for us.

yes, it's time to head into a school year which will be filled with new lessons to learn,   but i can't help but think also about the learning we've done in this long, long summer. summertime may fade slowly away this weekend, but it leaves us ready for a new chapter and i give thanks today for the learning.

some pictures from our final weeks of summer...

yeah, she knows she's cute... uh-oh.

when the kids are out on the water...cooper always sits waiting and watching.

"To see the Summer Sky is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie --

True Poems flee."  ~ emily dickinson

tangled

when did i go from a girl eager to get up on the high ropes course, to a woman relishing a quiet house and a week of organizing closets?

when did this happen?

this week, all but the oldest child, are at summer camp.  tyler and sarah were dropped off at a christian sports/wilderness camp in the north georgia mountains, while connor and bella are attending a sports/wilderness day camp at our church.  except for the 16 year old, who comes and goes at her own pace, my house is empty from 9am to 4pm every day.  i am pretty sure, since entering the realm of motherhood, i have never had a week quite like this.  i certainly have never seen my house so quiet and calm and clean (oh yes, so wonderfully clean!)

the first day i scoured the kitchen from top to bottom, and when i came back into it an hour later -- it was still clean!  i'm not kidding, the room was still spotless. can you even imagine?  i stood there, mouth gaping and then slow smile spreading--oh the simple pleasures of summer children well-occupied.

this week, i have discovered some truth:  summer camp isn't intended for kids...it is actually designed for parents needing to catch their breath.  can i get an a-men?  i had to fight the urge the first day to tidy up the whole house and then spend time just walking serenely around it, taking in its pristine state,  basking in the unwrinkled beds and unsticky countertops.  you think i'm strange?  come and live in my home on a normal day, and then you'll know just why i might revel so oddly in a brief moment of serenity.

it's not that i haven't missed my children.  i have! without fail, i've checked the camp website every evening for updated pictures of my boy and girl at sleep-away camp.  i have delighted in their obvious fun, enormous smiles and muddy clothing.  they are clearly having the time of their lives and i can't wait to pick them up this weekend and hear their stories.  i know my sarah will talk non-stop, all the way home.  and each day at 4pm, when it is time to pick up connor and bella, i am always excited to see them running towards me:  faces flushed and energy spent, smelling of the outdoors and sunshine and sweat.  i wasn't sure if bella could handle this all day camp thing -- but it's clear, she has adored being there.  she is the tiniest camper by far, i've been told, the counselors all take turns carrying her around, like the camp mascot or babydoll.  each morning when i wake her and tell her it is time to get ready for camp, she responds with a big "yes!"  i guess she has handled it just fine. the first day on the way out the door, she stopped and said, "oh no, mom, i forgot my pajamas!"  and she turned to run back inside.  i burst out laughing and explained, "honey, you aren't sleeping at your camp.  you don't need your jammies. you'll be home in time for dinner." not one bit of concern or worry from this kid -- day camp or sleep away camp, she's all in!

so what does a woman do when her house has emptied of children?

the night before they all left, i posted on facebook that i was waffling between two plans for my week alone.  plan one: cleaning and organizing my entire house.  plan two: emptying several cartons of ice cream while catching up on all the movies i've missed in the past five years.  everyone who responded to my post, encouraged the ice cream and movie thing.  my middle girl even told me if i did that she'd be very proud of me. but those of you who know me, know there is nothing i love more than puttering around in my house -- uninterrupted.  i did watch puss and boots one night with connor and bella, but other than that fine film, i have forgone the call of ice cream and couch.

instead this week, i did some serious digging into the house --  my own version of wilderness camp. closets and cabinets and drawers -- oh my!  i am amazed at what was unearthed --  perhaps appalled would be a better word.  we have a lot of stuff.  too much stuff, in fact. and so i've spent the week creating piles:  throw-away, give-away, keep.   i've done this room by room, closet by closet, drawer by drawer.  music blasting and woman singing, i've moved with a mission around my home unhindered.  most of the time i have enjoyed my little, self-imposed project.  i've enjoyed not having to fight off kids who are certain they "couldn't-possibly-part-with-this-thing-a-ma-jig" (this thing which they haven't touched in a year).  i've enjoyed the sense of accomplishment, the paring down, the purging, the utter orderliness of it all.  though i have to admit, there have been moments at the end of the day, when i am a little weary of sorting game pieces and playing cards and legos and lint, and i find myself just staring crazily at it all and considering running an ad in the newspaper (or on facebook!) and announcing a big "cash and carry! - everything must go sale!"  can you imagine rick coming home from his work week in minnesota and finding us sleeping on carpets, eating from take out cartons.

i hit that point yesterday when i got to the garage.  (mind you, i should know better than to ever go to the garage).  i pulled down bin after bin of random stuff.  pieces and parts and unidentifiable objects all mixed together in this great cacophony of junk -- the work of my husband and sons who don't exactly share my love of labels and order.  it was late in the day and i was tired.  one last box to go: our collection of  extension cords.  i don't know why, but after 22 years of marriage, we have almost a thousand extension cords.  okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration, but we do have a lot -- an entire, extra large bin full of them.  brown ones, white ones, green ones, orange ones,  long ones, short ones,  indoor ones, outdoor ones.  you name it, we have it.  in fact, we probably have some of yours if you're by chance missing one or two.   but as i sat there on my dirty garage floor and began to untangle them, i suddenly felt like the project was too much.  they were too tangled.  the harder i tried, the more tangled they became. some had knots, some had greasy smudges and rough edges.  i wrestled for quite a while with these cords before the tears came.  but come they did.  seriously, jody, are you going to cry over a box of tangled extension cords? i reprimanded myself.

but my tears had less to do with the tangled extension cords and everything to do with our tangled lives.  you see, as i was trying to fix this mess, i started to think about how much our family is tangled up in this place we call home.  i started thinking about how woven we are into the fabric of our school and church and community.  i started to think about how tangled up we are in the lives of people.  and just like this box of extension cords, i wasn't sure how we'd ever unravel ourselves from the big knot of those we love.  okay, perhaps i was just tired. perhaps it was the garage fumes getting to my silly head.  perhaps i am stretching too far with this one, regardless of what this was, i sat there a big old tangled mess on my dirty garage floor with my box of many cords and my many, many tears. 

but funny enough, God meets us even in the dirt and grime and mess of our garages.  in the midst of all that , a tiny sliver of clarity found my brain, and i took the big old mess of interwoven extension cords and heaved them back into the box.  why did i need to unravel them?  i didn't. i did not.  no, they were fine just the way they were and they could move with us in this very box without any unravelling taking place at all.  and the same goes for our family.  we don't have to unwind ourselves from this life.  just because we are moving a 1000 miles away doesn't mean we have to unravel ourselves from the people we love.  we can pack up the big old tangled mess of our relationships and take them with us.  we can.  God isn't asking us to sever, He is asking us to further sow.  sow new friendships and new relationships.  sow new seed, but all the while, continuing to grow with those we love.   maybe sitting on my garage floor in the middle of extension cords, was a strange place to learn a lesson, but it was a good lesson to learn. and i am thankful even in my messiest places,  God chooses to whisper His truth. 

we aren't untethering, we are continuing.  we aren't unravelling, we are reaching. we aren't extinguishing, we are extending.  last week we met some new friends while in minnesota.  my new friend, leslie, sent a picture of me with these ladies.  attached to the photo she wrote, "make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other's gold."  i was a girl scout many moons ago and i remember learning that little song.  i was probably ten or so when i first heard those words, how could i have ever imagined what they would mean to me in all these many years of loving and leaving and meeting and growing with people.  true words.  beautiful words. 

so this week, my kids were all off to wilderness camp. while they were up on the high ropes course,  while they were out on the river, while they were in canoes and kayaks and rivers and lakes,  their mother stayed home and cleaned out closets.  but maybe, just maybe this is my own version of the high ropes course.  i know what we are doing is an adventure.  my survival skills will all be called upon in these next couple of months of uncharted territory.   of course there will be some wild, wild wilderness out ahead-- i'm sure of it!  but i am even more sure of the God who leads and whispers and makes a way in our (clean or messy, organized or disorganized, smooth or tangled) wilderness.  

"behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert." ~ isaiah 43:19

charting their course down river

boys praying with counselors before their kayak trip

girls backpacking trip -- a grand adventure!

what we come back to

my number is 3, 281.  what's yours?

that is not my sleep number.  it is not my house number.  nor is it my daily caloric intake (at least i don't think it is).  that is (no, scratch that-- that was) the number of emails in my inbox at summer's start this week.  ridiculous? excessive? clutterer? keeper? hoarder? holder?  i am not exactly sure what this number says, maybe nothing at all.  maybe just that i am busy mom, in a busy season,  who looks at a lot of different pieces and parts in her life and says, "i'll come back to that."  that's what i think it mostly says.  "i will come back." sure i know how to delete.  i can purge and refine.  extract and remove.  but mostly, i am a woman who wants to come back. to revisit. to return.

maybe it is tied to my inability to let go.  i have lots of things which i find difficult to part with.  an odd assortment of items stored clandestine-like in my home. you wouldn't know it from a mere scratch of the surface,  it would require a friend to go deep. but that's the beauty of life:  to truly know and be known, you must make the effort and assign the time for some old fashioned digging.  i like my countertops empty and my refrigerator pared down, but if you go looking, you'll find who i really am:  a woman who holds things.  perhaps not from first glance, but once inside, you'll meet a collector and keeper of treasure -- or at least her version of treasure.

you might disagree with the things that i keep.  there's something to be said for the old adage, "one man's trash is another man's treasure."  indeed.  i am always fascinated by the things people hold on to.  if you ever choose to leave me unattended in your home, be advised, it is quite possible i might do some looking.  my manners will keep me from opening up doors and drawers, but i do want to know what's on your shelves --  what's displayed on your end tables and bookcases and walls.  the unique bits and pieces of you.  what do you keep? what things do you hold?

i am a keeper of ...

glass jars. i love to take labels off pickle and jelly jars and store them for something in the future.  paint samples or homemade salad dressing or colorful buttons. something empty and clean for the filling of beauty or business, whichever comes first.

flowers.  i will press them before i will part with them.  once, i carelessly picked up my bible at a women's study and dried flowers fell from the pages scattering at everyone's feet. a friend sitting close laughed and asked, "what in the world, jody, do you have a garden hiding in there?" what a wonderful thing to say about my bible. yes, indeed, my paper-like garden. 

photos.  i won't even begin to tell you the number of albums in my home. i take pictures.  look at pictures.  love pictures. anyone who knows me, easily knows this.

ribbon.  i am pretty sure we have every color, style, width and variation ever created.  i remove them from my packages and store, save, reuse.  i keep meaning to clean out my ribbon bin (and i do mean bin), but there is something about it all tangled colorfully together --  a messy rainbow in clear plastic.

words.  it goes without saying.  anything and everything someone writes to me gets saved.  magic marker messages from my kids, the husband's quick reminders and love notes left by the morning coffee pot, emails and cards. quick notes. long letters.  i keep them, one and all. perhaps this explains the awful state of my email inbox.

you never know what you'll need.  we can't imagine what we'll have to come back to.  and murphy's law or my law, the truth is, as soon as we discard...we'll certainly be in need of that very item.  sigh.  it has happened to me three times already today.

i'm not saying it isn't good to pare down.  it is. we absolutely need to be saavy editors of the things which distract and clutter.  and let's be honest, there's nothing quite like a good healthy purge, a thorough spring cleaning.  but isn't it lovely to also have things to hold on to? things to come back to?  as i was deleting my way through my 3,281 emails this weekend, i came across a few messages from friends in these past two years. (yes..two years).  and in the middle of my massive extraction, i took some time to catch up, answer, reply and reach out.  these were items and people not expecting a further response, but i came back to them and it felt right to revisit.  that too is a treasure.  we can't do it always or often...but occasionally it works. and occasionally we feel rich with the opportunity to circle back around to something once sweet.

these things we keep and these places to which we return are an inexplicable part of who we are.  they are part of our heart, part of what makes us human.  and maybe it's the upcoming move or maybe it's just my own silly version of a lowly mid-life crisis, but there's a tiny bit in me who wants to know clearly what i treasure and what i'll come back to.  as we consider moving away from the things we've held dear, i cannot be certain that we'll ever physically come back.  of course, there's a deep part of me which might want this.  i felt the same way about ohio, when i left my childhood state 14 years ago.  we haven't returned with a mailing address or a local phone number, but we did come back.  just last summer i wrote a piece while visiting my parents for a few days up in ohio. (http://eventhesparrow843.blogspot.com/2011/08/when-we-return-home.html)  and i am reminded of that this morning as i scratch out these same old, somewhat tired, thoughts.

but i do think God has designed us to return.  whether we be prodigal sons or unfaithful daughters.  whether we are busy moms or distracted fathers, God seems to always leave a window wide and a light warm.  even in the hardest of situations, i have watched God make a way to return. a return to health or peace or joy or places or people. a return to Him.  even in the midst of painful circumstance and passionate resistance, God is there working and wooing and creating a way.  God, the Restorer and Redeemer, oh how He loves a wandering returner.

"for I am about to do something new. see, I have already begun! 
do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. 
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland." ~ isaiah 43:19

and oh how i love that promise.  "I will make a pathway through the wilderness."  loved one, what is your wilderness?  i know we all have them.  hard marriages, damaged friendships, loneliness, financial ruin, compromised health, lost children, broken bits of life...God's open arms are for each of us, all of us.  God's promise is for those who journey in dry places.  "I will make a pathway through the wilderness."  not i might, but I WILL.  it is His promise to all who wander, to all who want to return. 

"for thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel, “in returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”  ~ isaiah 30:15

i don't know if i'll ever get my inbox completely cleaned out.  i have been religiously deleting each day -- but it surely is a two steps forward and one step backward kind situation.  because this is the sway of life.  and though sometimes life feels like an, out and out, marathon, i prefer to think of it more as a dance.  two steps forward and one step back.  by no means a smooth waltz, but a waltz just the same.  a giving and taking.  forward and back. we come and we go.  we hold tight, we offer up. we gather, we give.
we leave, we return.

because we are His.  because we are held. because He is holy.