Dust Bunny Friendships

     Some days my house reminds me of a hot, dry desert, complete with tumbleweeds rolling by . . . but the problem is that I live in a cold climate and the tumbleweeds are really rolling dust balls.   As hard as I try, our house produces more dust bunnies than I can keep up with - - and I have come to accept that this as part of life, especially at this stage with kids.  

     There was a time that these lifeless critters kept me from friendships that God had called me to embrace, but no more.  I have grown to accept that friendships are more important than clean houses.  And it is not my friendships that have changed, or my house that has changed, but it is me that has changed.

     I have learned to love my dust bunny friendships.

     These are the friendships that weave in and out of our daily lives -- a place where I can pour out and be poured into, like a well-watered garden that flourishes in the warm summer sun.  A place where I choose not to let the state of things around me rob me of the sweet visits or the sumptuous conversations.

     I don't want to become what Rudyard Kipling thought of, when he said, "You sometimes see a woman who would have made a Joan of Arc in another century and climate, threshing herself to pieces over all the mean worry of housekeeping."  

     Life is too short and people are too precious to waste that much time.  My desire is to keep a house that is clean enough to always welcome someone in, but never so clean that it means I won't have time to enjoy my guests.  

     Now go smile at your dust bunnies, and then invite over a friend! 

"Open your homes to each

other without complaining."

I Peter 4:9    

The Mess of Learning

     "Oh, Mom, can I help you?"  The words came out of the mouth of my sweet daughter -- good words, bad timing.  I was about to begin one of my "secret jobs".  I don't have many secret jobs, but there are a few -- you know, the ones that you try to accomplish alone before a charming child steps into "help".   This job involved the transfer of 22lbs of flour, so the risks were steep.

     "Sure you can," I replied hesitantly, but I cringed as I spoke, because I knew what might come next . . . the mess of learning.  It seems to be the inevitable step that each child has to take to master the next level of chores and assignments, but one I dread more often than I should. 

     We put the clear, plastic flour bin on the kitchen floor and opened the bag together.  "I can do it, Mom," she said.  To which I replied, "I know, but I will just help you get started."  We opened the bag together and started to lift it in the air, but before I could get the words out to tip it slowly, flour decorated my floor!  Much of it did make the bin, but . . . much didn't. 

     Life -- all of it, whatever stage we are at -- requires the mess of learning. 

     At what point do we earn the badge of completing all lessons?  There isn't one.  If we are not overwhelmed with the "mess" of learning how to care for our first baby, then we are further down the list, with the hope to check off the lesson on the "mess" of learning how to care for our third.  Or maybe it is the "mess" of learning how to communicate with our spouse.  Or it could be the "mess" of learning how to age gracefully.  It doesn't seem to end, does it?

     This is God's design of life -- it's what keeps me humble and in need of wisdom from others, and most of all, from above!

     I looked around at the smattering of flour on the kitchen floor and thought of my own life -- the lessons I have learned have often left a detritus of mess in my path.  But just as I helped my daughter to clean up the flour, so God faithfully helps me with clean up the residue from my lessons.

     This is how our children are created to learn, and it is how I continue to learn . . . one mess at a time.

"I applied my heart to what I observed

and learned a lesson from what I saw."

Proverbs 24:32

    

The Cost of Shaping Character

     My daughter's sapphire eyes rolled upwards slightly and her mouth seemed to match the mood, as it turned down in disgust.  Parenting is not for cowards, I remind myself of the infamous phrase, this is part of the journey of successfully taking my children from their early years to adulthood. 

     I know this in my head, but it does not alter the feelings in my heart -- how is it that, in order to do what is right for my children, it has to hurt this much?

     I ask my daughter to take some time in her room to think through her attitude, and I go to mine for a quiet moment with God.  We both need to BREATHE separately before we share the same air in a room again.  I used to wish that there was a "skip button" to bypass these trials of attitude and conflict with my children, but now I have learned the truth . . . these struggles are compulsory for each of my children to grow into strong, loving, adults. 

     There are no short cuts on the path of shaping character.

     I reflect on how many lessons it has taken to bring my daughter this far, and I purposefully choose not to look ahead, or try to imagine, how many more lessons remain.  I appreciate God's wisdom that I need only take one day at a time.  This is what keeps the task of raising children at a manageable level . . . most days.

     I am reminded of the words that Dwight L. Moody spoke on character, when he said, "Character is what you are in the dark". 

     The veracity of this statement impacts me, as I think on my own life -- some of the hardest decisions have come when I have been alone, without other eyes upon me.  And these are the times that I want to prepare my children to be ready to face. 

     A little while later, my daughter and I reunite with bright faces and restored hearts.  She even thanks me for helping her learn how to behave better . . . not expected, but greatly valued.  These are the moments and days God has given to me, with His help, to shape my living treasures as best as I can -- I don't want to waste a day!
    

     "Perseverance (produces) character;

and character, hope. 

And hope does not disappoint us."

Romans 5:4&5

Taking Time

     The first sound that greets our ears, as we step into the impressive multi-storied structure, is the sweet sound of voices singing the praises of God.  I am sure these voices will forever take my breath away -- every time we visit -- for they are the voices of women who have spent their lives in service and dedication to God, and they are lovelier than room full of fragrant, scarlet roses.  These are the nuns, and they have given their strongest years of life in locations around the world, showing God's love to whomever they met, and still they serve.

     Only short moments later, they file out of their retirement chapel . . . slowly, but still with life in their steps.  We stand to the side and greet them with quiet nods and smiles.  Our hostess offers them to join us for tea and sweets, and their responses vary -- some are on their way to visit others more elderly than themselves, one has emails to send to nuns in South America (she is in her 80's), some are on their way to prayer, but some have time to follow us for a visit.  And these are some of the richest occasions my children and I have come to know.

     "It is so good to see you again," shares one nun who is in her nineties.

     "I am so glad you came to see us.  How are you?" another inquires.

     "Did you bake this fudge for us?  That is my favourite treat," beams again another.

     My eleven year-old gingerly carries around a platter of brown-sugar fudge, while the other children look for a table that needs a guest.  They have learned how to carry their peach juice in hand and find a seat that will give them a window into the stories of women with history as deep as the sea.  Sometimes I sit with my four year-old, sometimes I wander to the others, but ALWAYS I listen to the flow of the chatter and the chronicles of time that pass in the hour we linger with them.

     How could I have thought we were too busy for this?  I ponder how close I came to replacing this outing with other needs that pressed for my attention . . . but this is where real life happens.  This is what my children will remember for years to come.  This is the richness of the aged, sharing with my young ones, and this wisdom can't be bought.

     I hear laughter and spot a game of "hands" being played.  I grab for my camera and try to capture a memory of the day, even though I know when it is shared at home, justice will not be served for the prolific happiness we enjoy.

     Time passes quickly and the ladies begin to get up and say their goodbyes.  It is time for us to let them go on to the other things their day holds.  We are sorry to go -- I realize this is where my children have learned best how to ask questions, how to appreciate the accounts of seasons in the past, and how to respect the aged.  All skills that I previously assumed would have occurred more naturally . . . but I have come to realize that these too have to be taught, practiced and modeled.

    "Wasn't that fun?"

     "Did you hear the story from Sister Anna?"

     "I am so glad I wore a dress, they really liked it!"

     The half hour drive home passes quickly, as everyone shares their choice recollection of the morning.  My mouth can't help but stay upturned, as I reflect on how fast time moves past and how important these occasions are for all of us.  I remember the nuns' appreciation of our visit and my smile grows even larger -- they still don't realize that they give back much more to us in love, than we could ever give to them.  This must be God's perfect order of age and life in action!
 

"Is not wisdom found among the aged?

Does not long life bring understanding?" 

Job 12:12

A Game of "Hands"



Abundance of Bread

     "Eating Holes in Wallets" screamed the bold type on the front page of the morning newspaper.  Another paper boasts, "Be prepared to fork over more cash before you pick up your dinner fork."  The articles go on to elucidate the events that again threaten to increase the burden to our homes and budgets. 

     More money for food?  Don't we pay enough already? Then the thoughts tumble even deeper and darker . . . What if there is not enough?  How can we stretch our dollars further than they already are? 

     I stop there -- the demands of the morning routine require that I thrust these thoughts aside and focus on the immediate needs of cereal bowls and juice glasses.  Questions are shelved till later.

    Later comes, and I find myself focused again on the headlines of the morning paper.  The weight of the daily news feels heavier than I care to admit -- the feelings of "not enough" are not new, but shadows of the past.  I stop and take those thoughts captive.  I sense a warning light flash that my thoughts are not lined up with God's truth, but it takes more self-discipline than usual to arrest them in my mind.  It must speak to the magnitude of their size. 

     "God," I cry out, "I don't want to carry this burden."

     "I know that it is not mine to carry -- you are the One who has, does, and always will provide for our family..."

     "REGARDLESS of food prices!"

     I feel the rest returning to my heart, and I am reminded of the verses I read a few days ago.  I pick up my brown-leather Bible and turn to the portion in Deuteronomy 8.  Yes, there it is . . . I settle into the plaid couch cushions, as warm sunshine floods over my shoulders and touches the pages of God's words to me.  It begins with the promise in verse 7 and whispers to me, "The Lord your God is bringing you into a good land -- a land with streams and pools of water, with springs flowing in the valleys and hills . . . a land where bread will not be scarce and you will lack nothing."

     This is the truth my heart has begged for!  His provision ALWAYS allows for inflation -- that is why He holds the title of FAITHFUL.  My heart soars with the lightness of springtime.  My God knows the beginning and the end, He knows what will be needed in the months ahead, and that is where I choose to fix my thoughts.

"My God will meet all your needs

according to His glorious riches

in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:19

The Best Mess

     WHOOOOOSH!  The sound of running water grabbed my attention.  It came from the laundry room . . . BUT I was in the kitchen!  Not a good sign when a sweet, visiting toddler had just vanished from the living room moments before.  I hurried to follow the sound of the tap and rounded the corner just in time to be greeted by a soggy-socked toddler -- her face scrunched up with concern.

    It only took moments to rescue the surrounding items from the water that crawled across the beige tiles, and then I turned to face the culpable two-year old.  Her face displayed the concern that raged on the inside.

     "Marie, did you turn on the tap and make this mess?" I gently asked.

      The pause that came next threatened to last forever.  Then the words stumbled forth -- start and stop, due to the war being waged in order for the truth to surface . . .

     "I . . . I . . . I . . . I . . . DID!" 

     Relief flooded into her azure eyes, as she gazed up at me -- and I cheered!  Because I was glad she had made the mess?  No, because I saw the victory that had been won in her heart.  Hundreds of hours of training, invested by her mom and dad, were paying off during a brief visit in our home.

     The mess was a success in my eyes.  At the mere age of two, she had defied the battle of gravity and THE LIE and conquered it with THE TRUTH.

     And does the battle of gravity and THE LIE end just because we become the moms?  No.  The temptations just become more subtle; the opportunities we have to stand up and get the words out change their shape, but they do not disappear.  A missed item on our receipt at the grocery checkout . . . a husband who asks what time we crawled into bed . . . a friend who wonders what we think of their dress . . . a child who glances at the posted speed limit and then inquires of the speed of our vehicle. 

     Simple moments in time that seem insignificant on their own.

     BUT put together over the years, they become the essence of who we are.  God-given "seconds" in time that accumulate to mold the weight of our character, either good or bad, while observed by those we love the most. 

     We are forever watched, forever heard, forever silently asked the question, "Does Mommy live like she tells me to live?"  May we be found with the answer that resounds bold and strong, "She sure does!" 

"In EVERYTHING set them an example by doing
what is good."  (Titus 2:7)

Frustration to Blessing

     The creases furrowed across my youngest son's forehead.  They spoke silently of the mounting frustration inside his small frame.  His current desire was to create a car from his building blocks -- a worthy goal for a determined young four year old IF he had enough supplies.  But given the meager scatterings of blocks he attempted to work from, the task seemed infeasible.

     "Mommmm!"  The call came from the upstairs and seemed to boast of hopelessness.  "I CAN'T DO IT!"  

     My four year old spoke the words with echoes of discouragement.  My mother's heart wished I could wave a wand a make piles of blocks appear, but our budget disagreed with my longings.  Little did I know, something much better was about to transpire.

     Around the corner strolled my oldest son, bulking shoulders and height that caused me, for a moment, to catechize that he could really be mine.  His face, full of secrets and surprise, with sunlight sparkling from his eyes, seemed to contain an unveiled plan.  I doubt I will forget the words that followed next . . .

     "Hey buddy, since you and I are sharing a room now, I have an idea.  How about all MY blocks..." 

     My eyes filled with liquid faster than I imagined possible.  Was he really about to do what it sounded like he would?  The blocks that he had spent his lifetime collecting, guarding and saving for?  Then it happened,  the words poured out sweet and rich . . .

     ". . . become OUR blocks.  We can share them and play with it together, now that you are such a big guy."

     My heart overflowed with thankfulness for this young man that stood before me.  The arguments and squabbles faded out of my mind and all I could see was the gift.  In this moment in time, I saw a heart that God had access to, and the reward was great.  Life has brought enough experience to make me conscious of the fact that this is only a piece of the puzzle that holds both light and dark, good and bad -- but I am at rest with that.  I rejoiced in the gift of love shared between brothers -- years apart in age, but close in heart.

     Then, as if God whispered in my ear, I heard, "That is a picture of who I am.  Your God, who is MORE than enough." The truth resonated deep within, as I pondered these words.  Yes, I thought, I am the one with the meager scatterings that attempts to do things on my own, until You come with Your bountiful provision, far more than enough, for all that I need.

"Every good and perfect gift is from above,

coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights." James 1:17