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