So, I had a day the other day. One of those days when, in the middle of it all, I wished I could have tapped my shoes and said, "There's no place like Hawaii, there's no place like Hawaii," and then I'd be beamed to the beach. How great would that be - to be beamed to the beach? Apple needs to get to work on that. If they can make a watch talk to me about my day....
This particular day started with a run. Not necessarily to be in the best shape, but to clear my mind for the following hour: wake the kids and get out the door hour. I can't speak on this particular time with too much detail, as it's much too traumatizing.
The important fact is that all three kids made it into the car, mostly fed and generally in one piece. The difficulty of this task can be understood in terms of priorities: having clothes is a priority. Wearing them backwards is a not a priority.
And we weren't singing "Merrily we go to school, go to school, go to school..." Oh, no. I spent the first five minutes trying to break up a fight between my two "youngers" over how babies come out of mom's tummies. Each kid was passionate that they knew the answer, and at first it was hilarious. My daughter was essentially arguing that God takes them out, and my son was countering with the fact that knives were involved. It started becoming annoying when they began yelling their arguments, kicking each other's chairs, and throwing back packs. For heaven's sake.
Thankfully no one felt the need to ask the one mommy in the car if she had any answers to this quandary. Thankfully, or this hour also would have been too traumatizing to retell.
One thing and one thing alone broke up the argument: My son realized he forgot his shoes. For the love....
How does one forget ones shoes? I seriously considered making him go to school in his socks, but alas, I turned around the car and we were then sufficiently late to each school drop off. My younger two don't get upset about being late (unfortunately, they're kind of used to it when mom is involved), but my oldest is a different story. She wants to get to school early enough to socialize before her first class. So, my son's lack of shoes now eliminated social hour and devastated her up-until-that-day unblemished late record.
She sat with her arms folded in the front seat, mad at her brother, who managed to forget shoes for the day, and mad at me for turning the car around. I told her to imagine walking around in socks all day and then consider whether or not I should have gone back to the house. She suggested she'd like it. She actually probably would. So, that didn't work.
After dropping off late children and running errands (which included picking up "the way wrong deodorant," according to my son), I went over to my parent's old house to help with a few things in order to get it on the market as soon as possible. While there, I had a lovely encounter with two mice.
Most people would have left the rodents for the professionals...most smart people, that is. Again, I will spare the details other than to say I left alive and the mice did not. However, I did have a minor (that may be understating it, according to my husband) panic attack that night over mouse disease. I have no idea if such a thing exists, but I was sure for about an hour that I had it.
After finishing up at mom's, I walked in the house to nap and eat Bon Bon's...
...in my Hawaiian dreams. Instead I decided to tackle the toilets and laundry and general clean up. The clean up, just to highlight a few of the more exciting aspects of what I had to look forward to, included picking up an entire roll of toilet paper waded up in the corner of the bathroom - who, what, why? I have no idea - and scrubbing down the carpet in the car after spilling my green smoothie the day before. Yes, the day before. It was gross.
But none of it was done sufficiently because within a few minutes of walking in the door, I received a phone call from my oldest:
"I forgot my iPad."
"Well, at least it wasn't your shoes. So, have a good day without your iPad."
"But my teacher says I need my iPad!" Shoot. Apparently having her iPad is a priority. Having a pencil these days, is not.
My plan was to shower. At some point in the day, I really was going to shower, but I realized on my way to a class at the seminary that I never actually accomplished this important task. I literally considered whether putting on Chap stick under my arms could have the same affect as deodorant. And I wasn't in the mood to learn anything.
I went to pick up the kids from school, lavishing in my ten minutes of carpool time to work on the Bible study lesson that I am leading. It's amazing what a mom's mind can (and can't) absorb in ten minutes. I'm pretty sure I stared at the same page of the John Stott commentary for all ten minutes. But, somehow I felt a little more accomplished. And then I sat back, wishing I was in Hawaii. And it was only 3:00.
After chauffeuring kids who complained about late slips and the wrong deodorant, I headed out to teach piano lessons, only to be interrupted half way through by my parent's realtor asking if I knew anything about the dead mice in the basement.
And again, I tapped my shoes together.
I've recently had a number of different conversations with women about their "plot" in life. Some work outside the home and some do not, but what's amazingly consistent is how discontent so many feel.
For those who work outside the home, there is a sense of guilt over not being with their kids enough or frustration in feeling "stuck" in their careers, lamenting that what they do is mundane and not really making a difference.
It's not too different from those I've spoken with who stay at home. Many of these women feel they are lacking something in their lives and that their work at home feels, at times, insignificant.
I get it. I was introduced recently as a "Pastor's wife and homemaker." I seriously cringed. I wanted to stand on top of a table and shatter every image of those around who were imagining me sitting on the couch in my Snuggie, sewing the kid's clothes, and eating Bon Bon's.
But there is a clear call for us as women and believer's in Christ when it comes to our "plot," whatever that may be: "Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men [or women]." Colossians 3:23.
What we're called to, whether it be folding laundry, cleaning up spills from messy toddlers, planning a presentation, or giving a lecture, we're called to do it heartily. We can't (and shouldn't!) waste our time wishing that we had the life of someone else. As soon as we neglect the place in life to which God has called us by being critical or discontent, we lose heart for our work.
My husband reminded me recently that when God blesses us, he blesses us with more responsibility, not less. What a brilliant reminder. Our responsibilities are a blessing! The fact that I have to chauffeur kid's around after school is a blessing...I have children who are healthy and thriving. The fact that I have to clean up my parent's house is a blessing...I am capable and healthy (at least until the mouse disease hits). And the fact that many of you are in the midst of presentations, meetings, and lectures...you have a job when so many others would give anything for employment.
I pray for a spirit that is less critical and less longing for what I don't have and instead for an attitude willing to be thankful for this season of life right here and now - even in the midst of days I'd rather be in Hawaii.
And one of the best ways to do this? Be mindful of the good parts of the day - they're always there. Sometimes we have to fight hard to think of them, but they're there.
Even though I was regularly tapping my toes and wishing I could be beamed, there were some good parts to the day that I needed to identify:
First, I watched one of my piano students get so excited to show me how well he learned his piece that he hardly sat down before playing. And then he told me my lollypops were better than his moms.
Second, the passage that the professor was giving a devotion on at the seminary class had implications for something I was deeply struggling during the last several days. The Lord spoke to me that day through His Word, even in my smelly and unteachable state.
And last, I laughed, instead of crying, when lily interrupted my own piano practice to ask me if I could tell her "just how babies become free from those bellies."
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