Pots, Pans, and Prayer
We’re one of those families who live in their house. And by live, I mean live. Stacks of graded tests loiter on my kitchen table, dishes cluster in the sink… sometimes they’re clean, sometimes their dirty, but usually it’s somewhere in between. Carpet stains get married and have young here, and toys roam freely about the living room. Our 1981 dishwasher has been merely ornamental for about a year and a half now after an incident involving smoke. People usually gasp when they finally put it together that I wash dishes by HAND. Don’t worry- I do too. It’s the job I consider to be the greatest “love offering” to the Lord and my family. Let’s stop talking about it.
I clean all the time, but the “end” of a to-do list means that I accomplished a couple of things, not that there isn’t more that needs to get done. We have kids, a really cool hippy roommate, and the best dog on the planet… but she sheds this time of year. My Main Squeeze has towers of books all over our little kingdom, which he genuine reads, but because he reads about 6 books all at the same time, the towers don’t actually get any smaller.
I’m also one of those absurdly artsy DIY ladies who, thanks to the guidance of Pinterest and a few crunchy comrades, makes weird stuff like homemade headboards, water kefir and dairy-free muffins. So it’s not unusual for me to get the question, “What in the world-??” from any number of visitors who breeze through our revolving front door when they see my latest projects. I have to admit that I’m not sure where eating healthy ends and doing it for the picky-eaters’ reactions begins. But either way, my jeans size is shrinking, so no complaints. And unless they’re caked with mud or poo, we don’t tell anyone to take their shoes off when they come into our house because, frankly, with this many people, it’s the only sentence we’d be saying if we cared.
Chia seeds, anyone?
The point is, we’re not perfect. Unfortunately, I’m a recovering perfectionist. Yeah, you just take it one day at a time. Some days you’re living in the moment, blissfully unaware of the many demands of life, and some you’re a subservient to your internal brass knuckles-toting mob boss. But in between the questions of my two-year old, the cries of my infant, the organic-y hullabaloo meals I keep making, the almost-finished sermon notes I keep attempting to write, the smattering of meetings that sweep through our home, and then the regular occurrences of “NO! how do we run out of coffee so fast?!”… in between all of those things there are sweet windows.
These windows are reserved for phrases like, “Jesus, I love You” and “thank You, God, for all of this”… and also the occasional, “Please, Lord, let that spot only be water!”
I mean, you could go throughout your day without ever turning Godward and probably survive, but I turn into a raging machine of turmoil when there isn’t a break in the action for loving phrases to the Most High. Just ask my husband. I get this look on my face (or so I’m told), where everyone in the house knows Mom hasn’t come up for air in a while. When I haven’t paused to remember the fact that I belong to the Lord, I do laundry with a freakish zeal and a wild eye whilst simultaneously muttering my plans for making dinner, intermingled with complaints about wishing the notion of vacation wasn’t fictitious.
The bottom line is that the only way all of this is worth it is if my heart is fixed on Christ. If not, I’m just busy.