day 16

happy. 

 

it doesn't require a lot for me to be happy. a cup of hot tea, a tiny bit of space, and a place to breathe. today it is my husband coming home for an hour so i can go to star bucks alone. after 4 days and nights of sick kids, i'll take even an hour alone to recollect. i should probably grab a celebrity magazine just to make the hour more productive. it's the little things.

day 15

what if.

what if we took the truth seriously, "do unto others as you would have them do unto you?" not just in the negative context we typically use it in like- don't hit your brother because you wouldn't want him to hit you. what if it meant that when i buy myself lunch, i buy it for my neighbor as well. when fill up my non-eco friendly gas guzzler tank, i fill up the car beside me as well.  or if i buy myself those questionable skinny jeans, buy a pair for my friend too. i mean really, like what if that is what this verse meant? what if it meant that if i am going to take care of my needs then i better darn well take care of my neighbors needs too. and after every thought i have about this idea, all i hear are excuses spilling out everywhere.... after our backyard gets done, once sam gets a raise, when i can work more, when the kids are older, sure, one day we will do this. what if everything we had, we gave. what if i really trusted God. what in the world would my life really look like. because i really don't think that giving is a matter of how much or how little i have. i think it is a trust issue. a matter of the heart. what is my heart attached to that i need more than the love of God? what else satisfies, what else fills, what silences guilt and shame and anxiety but the complete goodness of God? and every gift, every good and perfect gift comes from Him.
i thought about this at my sink today. looking out over the earth from my window.  stacking dishes into their designed slots. exhale. what if i were different. what would that even look like. what if?

day 14

need.

because i need you. this morning, like every morning. and though i normalize that my heart actually beats and my body breathes, normal it is not. before the sun rises and the sky moves into all sorts of shadows and shades, i awake to my need for you. headache and hands warmed by morning brew, i see my need for you in all that i do. joy, bouncing boys playing and baby discovering. grace, seeking even the smallest sins, calling out and coming in. hope, kindly moving all things forward. 

for this space.... the uneaten yogurt,  sweet smells of stock flowers dancing in mason jars,  t-rex roaring, husband helping, and brothers becoming, i know my need for the creator to keep creating for this life to keep living.

day 13.

tired.

it's been one of those days weeks where i can't shake my tiredness. yeah... the only way to shake sleepiness is SLEEPING! right!???! but when i have two minutes to myself, instead of sleeping,  i over eat my take out Chinese, flip through channels, and random do Wikipedia searches. because here is the thing, being a mom, you are never alone.  they never. ever. leave. so it doesn't matter if you are going on day 6 of less than 5 hours of sleep a night, so tired your eyes are burning, your limbs are going numb, and hair massively disheveled, the single moment you have to yourself you fill it up with the smallest amounts of pleasure that bring the greatest amounts of instant fulfillment. so if that means watching america's next top model while downing hot cinnamon gummy bears, i'm gonna do it.

day 12

envy & ice cream

envy. i shut down my computer. turn off lights and walk out of my office. closing down and pushing out the pangs of wanting something i can't have and hating that others have it. envy. the loudest feeling and most seldom shared sin. envy. 11:00 pm and wanting nothing more than sleep to silence my sickening state. yet, a sink full of dishes makes me stop, sigh, and move towards the pile still there since baking bread this morning (don't think too highly of me, i just added eggs, water, and cooking spray). hands soaked in filthy water and all sorts of stickiness i see my bowl from this afternoons ice cream binge. i eat when i don't want to feel something. i eat to stuff. i eat to avoid. i eat when i'm bored. i typically go straight for sugar,  ice cream topping my list. i want ice cream now. i keep washing. i keep loading. i keep wanting to get rid of my internal gunk.

from my kitchen sink i dwell on my envy. i want something someone else has. i write and want to be noticed. to be seen. and other people are writing posts and blogs and books and all i feel is a surge of jealousy. i'm spewing with hateful thoughts towards others (and their 400 followers) and sorry-full thoughts about myself and envy is spinning all around me. i really need that ice cream. anyway or anything that can take me out of this personal hell. i keep cramming dishes into spots where they clearly don't fit, but i insist and persist.

i think about my calling. cause i believe in things like calling and purpose. i believe in soul mates. i believe that pain has a purpose.  i believe all things are wrapped in and around a glorious divinity. God invites us into His good story, His love story.  a story written, yet, still being told. i think about why i write. i think that writing isn't about me being known (although it is certainly a tugging temptation). but, writing, for me, is to become more of who i was created to be. words, carving out my character. words, a way for me to pray. words, teaching me how to listen, to be open, to be still. writing isn't my calling. writing, isn't for me to become known because i already am, fully and completely. writing, is a gift that God uses to show me His story. entering this narrative is my calling.
envy is wanting a calling that belongs to someone else.

 envy, released. heart, recollected. dishes, cleaned. ice cream, devoured.

***

i seriously do love my 3 followers! krissa, rissa, and sam!!! thanks for all the love you send my way!

day 11

different.

i want this day to be different. to live alive to this day as though it was the last. to fill it with goodness and truth and beauty. i want to be different. and this daydream is quickly interrupted with bouncy ball wars, tantrums to tender, and feelings to wipe off the floor. i guess the reality of life being peaceful, without wrinkle or frailty isn't really life. that sleep doesn't change the heart, no different than makeup fixes the blemishes or band aids heal the hurt. we are the same until the heart meets with the maker. and all the realities of time-outs and bathroom floors and asking for forgiveness are all meant to make us different.

day 10.

rain.

it rained today. and i still hear it falling outside my window. rain dropping the way it did this morning as i watched it fall from my kitchen sink. water falling, water rising, filling the earth. soaking the dryness laid doormat in the soil of my soul. and i feel it filling and i watch it falling. replenishing and reviving. the sink water splashing and the heaven water releasing. and the light spotting on sections of the mountains where clouds are dispensing. soapy water rinsing and the rain it keeps falling. keeping all things clean. the calming cadence of life being given another chance to live. the mercies of a love offering falling before my eyes and into my hands.  millions of little sprinkles softly singing, grace. grace. grace. grace. grace. grace. grace.

day 9

grace.

with a sigh. with an exhale. tiredness fills my bones and my body is heavy. it's my story and perhaps everyone's story. but i find myself throughout the day praying grace. in the long days where i barely manage to move from one task to the next, grace. on the empty days where i carry no meaningful conversation, grace. between the dishes and mailbox and changing dirty sheets, grace. praying, God, can your grace be even here? because some days are just so empty. these days of child rearing are ridiculous. it is a massive collision of one never ending day that mysteriously turns into years. they all collide into one enormous, screaming body ache, string of continuous yawns, smashed crackers, yelling in grocery stores, shameful turns (and returns) into McDonalds, tunnels and forts and make believe, a relentless roller coaster of highs and lows, and a never ending (no matter how much sleep i get) weight of exhaustion.  some days are so long and they become the loneliest. on these forever days, can your grace be found here?

day 8.

 circle.

i've sat in this same circle for over 20 years. me with them. them with me. and the perfect mixed cocktail (well, the cocktail didn't happen until we were of age, of course. of course!) of laughter and tears, a little sweet and slightly sour. we sit, painting toenails, flipping through tabloids, and there in the circle- pouring open our hearts, prying into hearts, and praying over hearts. we sit fixing our eyes to see and hands to receive each other with caution, with care. because even when you feel safe, finding words to express your insides can feel like silly string, stuff flying everywhere without restraint. when you finally stop, and someone asks how you are really doing, it is hard to know where to start. we start with stammering voices, and heavy exhales. we fidget and fight back tears. because when we stop, we wonder if what we have to say actually weighs worthy. and we stumble around words, struggling to find the right ones that reflect the truth of our souls. i hear them. the fog, the roller coaster, the anxiety, the gifts, the surrender, the freedom, the sadness. i hear them. the way i did when we were kids at camp sitting in a circle, laying in each others sleeping bags,  trying on each others clothes, talking about boys, and laughing about all sorts of silliness. so much has changed, but that circle hasn't. we've always sat surrounded, heads resting on shoulders, arms stretched rounded on backs, hands holding hands, and hearts circled one around the next.

day 7

reset.

sometimes all you need is a shower. a way to restart. a way to let the water roll off of you and feel a new. water has a way of restoring, a way of reviving. and that's what i needed mid way through my afternoon, something that helped me start over. something to soothe my frustration. so i showered and i promised myself to let the water wash over me. promised to let it change me. and i prayed that God would move me through the fog. i let my hair towel dry this time. i swept the floor,  rotated the clothes from the washer to the dryer,  loaded the dish washer, and wiped down my kitchen sink. i can't say that the water and minutes alone in the shower changed my heart, because it didn't. but in the most practical way, removing my smeared eye liner and shaving my prickly legs were, in fact, a much needed reset button in my day.

day 6

the sky.

it's dark outside, but from my sink i see his figure like moving shadows. he is beside himself to see the stars. through a tunnel of glass he turns his eyes to the sky and with all eagerness this little boy's body turns still. when he gets excited his body slows as though the thrill intimidates him. he taps the lens of his telescope, touching the stars. 

i watch him and wonder when, for me, the sky turned normal. at what point did i stop seeing the stars.  outrageous, ridiculous,  radiant diamonds bursting everyday before my eyes and i can't remember the last time i starred into their endless abundance. when did i stop seeing them the way he longs to see them. fire exploding in the sky and the normalcy of it all thumps loudly in my chest. when did all this beauty lose its wonder? i wish i were like him. i wish the sky meant that much to me, again.

Day 5

Invaders

Kids strapped in their seats I wipe the sink down once more. I get low and scan the sink closely. Even when appearances look lovely, the ants will find the crumbs and invite all their friends, invading.

Cleaning is the easy part of parenting.  Making the surface appear pretty can be easily tailored to any audience, impressing. Putting on a performance to make masses pleased can be proudly produced. 

Hunting down the hearts of my children in hiding is what I fear I will miss the most. If I neglect those quiet places, they will crumble. The tiniest spaces left undiscovered will invite unwelcome invaders. Invaders breeding invaders.

So I seek them, gently peeling back their protected places. Jumping in pools and spinning in streets and eating invisible sandwiches. Inviting opportunities for our hearts to connect, for their heart to come out.

Protecting my children is about connecting with my children.

And I realize that all those things matter. Those moments that can easily be overlooked or dismissed. Those places will be found, i just hope to find them first.
(please excuse the typos. i wrote this on my iphone and in the dark)

day 4

the sea.

washing down the sink tonight, under the soap, behind the faucet, drying down the porcelain sides, leaving no signs of a day full with food. making clean what was chaos. in this place now polished lived a day filled with vibrant life. and i reflect on all that this day was... the voices of children interjecting excitedly, one on top of the other, like a frenzy of cards being shuffled. fingers busy baking. the frustration of a friend in dire need of a break. texts bringing me to laughter that made my checks sting. 

i wipe down the counters. i straighten the flowers on the window sill. and i realize  i won't remember this day. i won't remember the way we chased our children at church or how noelle insisted on being held and learned to wave her hand hello. i won't remember watching a you tube video that broke me. it made me hate myself for all the things i daydream about buying because some people have nothing. literally nothing. i won't remember the way laughter brought me to tears the way only good friends can. i won't remember. it is only one droplet in a river running to the sea.   and at my sink i see all those little moments as gifts moving me, moving us, one day closer to each other. one day closer to Him.

(i'll be out of town for the next few days. i'll try to post. try)

day 3

yellow.

i dreaded doing anything with that pot in the sink. the heaviest yellow le creuset pot in our household bottom burned brown with chili.  burned because of neglect and pure forgetfulness. i forgot to stir. at some point the soaking has to stop and the pot must actually be washed. with a sigh i started the scrubbing and the phone rang. perhaps a dear friends voice would make the task seem less strenuous. and it did. i asked her about counseling. shes been lost for a while now, walking in shadows wondering if how she felt was normal. for too many years she was neglected and forgotten. when that happens, walls grow above and beneath you, burying you in a silent death.  unseen and suffocating. and in her voice i heard something that made me stop. i turned the water off and tears filled my eyes. i heard the whisperings of hope. and i could hardly speak because you become breathless when you realize that Jesus is answering your prayers and bringing back life to what was once dead. stirring hope into the soul of one so unseen.

i pour out the murky brown water from my yellow pot. yellow. the color of friendship. the color of the bug she drove in our college years. and if hope had a color i think it should be yellow because it is bright and cheerful and screams, "be alive." i refill my pot with clean water, drizzle it with soap, and rinse again.

kitchen sink thoughts

a simple place to stop. to reflect. to remember that every moment means something. and in the moments where the clanging of dishes meets the clanging in my soul, i write. 31 thoughts from my kitchen sink.

day 1: i sink
day 2: she 
day 3: yellow 
day 4: the sea 
day 5: invaders
day 6: the sky
day 7: reset 
day 8: circle 
day 9: grace 
day 10: rain 
day 11: different 
day 12: envy & ice cream
day 13: tired 
day 14: need 
day 15: what if 
day 16: happy
                                                                     i sink (day 1)

     from the kitchen sink a massive amount of overwhelming thoughts all collide in a 2x2 space. feet planted, hip twisting and body bending. suds foaming, water running, fingers wiping, i'm rinsing, i'm re-loading. always repeating morning, noon, and evening. everything is moving. my mental to-do list rising with the sun as i meet my sink at first light. still in my pj's, hair flipped into a bushy bun, the list grows ... dishes, sweep, scrub, pick up, pack, dress, change, throw away, gather, replace, shoes, keys, snacks, car, call, return, remember, reflect, don’t neglect, text, check locks, get checks, lip gloss, count children, close door. from my farmhouse kitchen sink i think about so much. i gather so much of me there.  so much of me that i want to run from. i feel the frustration of not having accomplished enough, i see the endless counters to wipe down and desk overflowing with stuff. all my issues seem to rise with the water filling our cast iron pot now crusted with last nights meal, thoughts and fears bubbling over. and the mess never seems to settle... clean back splash, take out trash, did i say too much, did i say too little, i shouldn’t have sent that email, why am i so annoyed, what if she never replies, kill the ants, why do i still care, shake out the rug, did they even notice i wasn’t there?  from my kitchen sink i am forced to stay, forced to feel, and find myself in all my messiness. and recently the stirring of my inadequacies have chased me and i am taunted by all the things i am not.  i chase down my faults trying to fix them, my mind dizzy with so many places that need mending.
     and at my sink when i so often fantasize about achieving, i suddenly stop, shaking hands free of suds, i look out to see what always makes my soul stop spinning, mountains. massive mountains stories high above the city they stand secure in complete strength with their splendid curves. and my soul hears, “i lift my eyes up to the mountains, where does my help come from? my help comes from you, maker of heaven, creator of the earth.” exhale. and i can stop fighting my insecurities and neurotic need to fix myself and everything fractured around me, everything in me. i stand behind my sink and stare into my surroundings, mountains whispering reminders of salvation. i sink, not to be swallowed, but saved.

to read more of my 31 day challenges: the nester

day 2

(thoughts from my kitchen sink)

she.
from my kitchen sink i hold her. hands fixed under her arms for fear she will slip. she laughs. i laugh and  i hear the boys laughing in the other room. she is so tiny. so slim. so absorbed in the newest of her porcelain crib. everything to her is so big yet, she can hardly see over the side of the sink. my little she is small. so small in such a big world. and i look around at the world set on display just outside my window and i wonder at the bigness of it all. how does such a big God see me, one so small in a sea of so many. and my fingers run along side the small of her back down to her toes, i squeeze them, each one. every delicate detail of her delights me.  i am drawn to her  and i take her in deeply. and there, at my sink, i realize that my big God delights in the little.  in all of me, He finds delight.

day 1

i sink

     from the kitchen sink a massive amount of overwhelming thoughts all collide in a 2x2 space. feet planted, hip twisting and body bending. suds foaming, water running, fingers wiping, i'm rinsing, i'm re-loading. always repeating morning, noon, and evening. everything is moving. my mental to-do list rising with the sun as i meet my sink at first light. still in my pj's, hair flipped into a bushy bun, the list grows ... dishes, sweep, scrub, pick up, pack, dress, change, throw away, gather, replace, shoes, keys, snacks, car, call, return, remember, reflect, don’t neglect, text, check locks, get checks, lip gloss, count children, close door. from my farmhouse kitchen sink i think about so much. i gather so much of me there.  so much of me that i want to run from. i feel the frustration of not having accomplished enough, i see the endless counters to wipe down and desk overflowing with stuff. all my issues seem to rise with the water filling our cast iron pot now crusted with last nights meal, thoughts and fears bubbling over. and the mess never seems to settle... clean back splash, take out trash, did i say too much, did i say too little, i shouldn’t have sent that email, why am i so annoyed, what if she never replies, kill the ants, why do i still care, shake out the rug, did they even notice i wasn’t there?  from my kitchen sink i am forced to stay, forced to feel, and find myself in all my messiness. and recently the stirring of my inadequacies have chased me and i am taunted by all the things i am not.  i chase down my faults trying to fix them, my mind dizzy with so many places that need mending.
     and at my sink when i so often fantasize about achieving, i suddenly stop, shaking hands free of suds, i look out to see what always makes my soul stop spinning, mountains. massive mountains stories high above the city they stand secure in complete strength with their splendid curves. and my soul hears, “i lift my eyes up to the mountains, where does my help come from? my help comes from you, maker of heaven, creator of the earth.” exhale. and i can stop fighting my insecurities and neurotic need to fix myself and everything fractured around me, everything in me. i stand behind my sink and stare into my surroundings, mountains whispering reminders of salvation. i sink, not to be swallowed, but saved.

to read all 31 days of my kitchen sink thoughts: click here