Sometimes, love looks like dirty dishes.

I came home yesterday to a clean, empty sink, a clutter-free living room, and the toys put away in my son’s bedroom.  I came home yesterday to a clean house and my heart exhaled because I felt like I could relax for an hour before taking up the charge of the evening’s duties. I felt my husband’s love in those first moments home, yesterday.  I felt it as much as if he had been waiting for me there at the door for me with his arms held wide.

His love was written all over the counter full of air-drying clean dishes.  It was smeared all over table tops and sink bowls that had been wiped free of scuzz and dried-on spaghetti sauce.  It shone from the empty, wood floor of my living room, and it did a happy dance in storage bins full of organized playthings in my son’s room.  My husband is very busy, so these little things, done out of love for me–done out of the mutual support a busy couple must maintain–were especially precious.  My husband is busy so some days, this is our only conversation.   An empty garbage can for me.  A warm meal waiting on the stove for him.  It is our love language when we don´t have enough face time for actual conversations.

One day, I came home to find that he´d started folding and stuffing the clean, cloth diapers.  I don´t know why, but folding diapers is a task that both of us put off until the very last moment.  The basket of clean diapers waits in a nondescript corner of the house until we realize that one of our children is super-poopy and the bin of pocket diapers and the box of cloth wipes are almost empty.  I don’t know why this task is always preceded by procrastination, but it is.  That said, when I came home one day to see inserts carefully laid out according to size and type; empty pocket diapers in a pile on the sofa; and wipes, prefolds, and covers neatly stacked and organized on the floor; I almost cried.  I could feel my husband’s love emanating from that half-finished task because I know he spared a few of his precious moments with the kids to make sure I got a few more precious moments with them myself.  The time it took for me to finish that task was cut in two and he knew it would be.  He had spelled “I love you” on the couch and the floor, and hanging off the half-empty laundry basket.  He had done it for me.  It was like a warm, sweet hug in his absence.  Crazy?  Maybe, but not to him.  He´s got my love language down.

But….

Some days…

…oh those days…

I can see that his love was measured in dirty dishes and doled out in demolished cities made of building blocks.  I don´t see the love at first when he writes it this way.  I see a mess and I get stressed and freak out that I´ll have to clean everything up before I can rest.  Or I´ll sigh and smile because I know he´s busy and I don´t really expect to come home every afternoon to a clean house, but I’m still worn out and daunted by the task.

Then, I look into the eyes of my kids.  Their smiles.  The twinkle in their eyes when I ask them about their morning.  The way my two-year old runs down the hall yelling his name.  That’s when I know that my husband’s love ran free in the middle of a messy house as he made and destroyed stacks of blocks, played hide-and-seek, and built forts in his daughter’s room.  He was so busy investing in them and filling their love cups that he didn’t get to the messy house.  It’s hard for me to see this, with my OCD desire for an orderly living space, but the kids are better off for it.  And so am I.  When I see the mess my husband leaves and take a deep breath before reacting…when I look at the clutter and see it for what it is–a father who would rather invest in his kids than clean the dishes–my heart swells with love.  The dirty dishes, crummy floor, and full wastebasket are beautiful.  They are evidences of how he writes his love on the hearts of his children.

Luke 10:38-42

As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him.  She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said.  But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things,  but few things are needed—or indeed only one.  Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

 

I always identify with Martha.  I work so hard running around after my children and those I babysit while trying to earn a little extra money writing and freelancing.  I feel like I’m stretched beyond my limits most days.  I´m busy.  It´s hard  just keeping clean clothes on our backs and clean dishes to eat from.  Some days, I´d love to drop everything and just play with my kids, but if I do it means they don´t eat, or they leave the house naked.  On those days, doing the chores is not really a choice.  But other days… I’m learning, like Mary did, to prioritize and to put those chores on the back burner so I can sit and partake of what´s most meaningful.

Honestly, my love is best shown through a clean house and handmade projects. It´s best expressed in homemade bread and pizza and an Elsa doll for my daughter that I hand knit myself.  It´s my love language.  But lately, I’ve been so busy that I’ve learned that I need to drop all that just to survive.  It’s a long road, but I’m learning to express my love in a sink full of dishes and jeans worn from the dirty hamper.  I´m learning to let it sing from rings of soap scum in the bathtub and toy xylophones that stay under the couch for a couple of days.

I’ve always been resentful of Mary.  I’ve blamed her for the extra work Martha had to do because she was slacking off.  I’ve felt like maybe if she’d helped her sister, they could have both sat at Jesus’ feet. It’s taken me a long time, but after some reflection, I don’t think Mary was lazy (I have thought that for pretty much my whole life).  I’m sure she worked hard cleaning, cooking, and de-cluttering, but she had already learned something that Martha and I are still trying to apply to our lives.  She learned when the urgent things are trumped by the important things.  Not everything urgent is important.  Sometimes, you have Jesus in your living room sitting patiently and waiting while you’re too busy to join Him because you’re doing “His” work.  While He was sitting in Mary’s and Martha’s living room, Jesus already knew that the time of His sacrifice would be soon upon them and His time on earth was limited.  He knew it was best for the girls to drink in His presence while it was so palpable.  Sometimes you have three little kids happily playing by themselves in their bedroom.  They’re contented for awhile while you sweep the floor, but they’re going to grow up so quickly.  Sometimes the kids and the husband have to wait.  You have to do your work at some point.  Many times though, you should put the broom down and write your love to them by pretending to be Anna of Arendelle or knocking down block towers.  The dishes will still be there later and the crumbs can wait.

Sometimes, loves looks like dirty dishes.

Parenting in Pictures

Thanks, Mom

I know Mother’s Day is over, but the day itself got me thinking about myself as a parent and about my mom.

This mother’s day I’m thankful to my mom.

I am thankful to her for all the usual reasons.  I’m thankful for all the snuggles–she was always a huge snuggler.  I’m thankful to her for the sacrifice.  I’m thankful to her for the time, for loads and loads of time invested in me and my six younger siblings that I never knew she’d given until I became a mom.  I’m thankful for the Christian example she was.  I’m thankful for how she made me wear modest clothing and protected me from dating before I was old enough for the commitment.  I’m thankful for the times she was my seat belt and the times she sat outside and played in the flowers with me.  I’m thankful for the songs she sang–she was always singing to us.  I’m thankful that she prayed for us.  Every night, and probably countless times during the day.  I’m thankful for the love of reading she passed down and the candy bars she’d sometimes splurge for in the line at the grocery store.  I’m thankful for the homemade, hand-decorated birthday cakes and the way she made Christmas Day so special even when there wasn’t much Christmas present money to go around.

My mom did a fantastic job with us.

But do you know what I’m most thankful for now that I’m a mom myself?  I’m thankful for her failures.  I’m sure she looks back at her “failings” and shudders at them (I certainly shudder at mine).  I’m sure she wishes they hadn’t happened and that she’d been perfect.  She probably will feel awful when she reads this and remembers the times she let us down, but I hope she doesn’t.

Now that I’m a mom, I am thankful for each time she lost her temper.  Each time she shut herself in her room and cried because we overwhelmed her.  I am thankful for her quirks and her over-protectiveness.  I’m thankful for when her worries got the best of her. I’m thankful for the days she didn’t have time to play with me and the times she had to leave me to babysit my siblings.  I’m thankful for the messy house and the angry words.  And I’m thankful for the apologies and for how she admitted that she wasn’t perfect to me as she told me how sorry she was that she’d done x, y, or z.

Because now I’m a mom and I make so many mistakes.  Other people tell me all the time what a good mommy I am.  They say, “Wow, Becca! I can’t believe all the great activities you do with your kids during school hours,” or “I really love watching the way you gently disciplined your oldest when she did a, b, or c.”  They say, “How do you have time for it all?” or “Your house doesn’t look messy to me at all,” or “You’re such an inspiring mom!” and I smile and nod, knowing deep down inside that it is all a sham. They’re only seeing what I let them see.  I know that I’m a terrible mom–at least that’s the vision I have of my parenting.  I know that the reality is somewhere in between the two perceptions I have just described.  I am both a good mom and a not-so-great mom.  But the awful sticks out to me so much.  It keeps me awake at night. It has me promising myself I’ll be perfect, and wishing I could disappear into a hole when I fail at perfection.  It has me comparing myself to every other mom out there who I know would never make the mistakes I make, and wanting to just give up.  The guilt of those moments where I lose my temper, or don’t have time to play, or make my daughter feel like crap because she left her dirty clothing all over the floor again and I said, “Why can’t you ever remember?” and I know she heard, “Why can’t you ever do anything right?” weigh on me heavily all the time.  I hate  that I’m not the mom I promised myself I would be back before I had children.  I’m not the mom I want my beautiful children to have.

You know that moment when you hold your slimy, beautiful firstborn child in your arms for the first time and you tell them that you’ll never let anything bad happen to them and you will protect them your whole life and cherish them and uplift them?  You know how you promise them they’ll have the best life ever and you will do everything in your power to be a perfect Mommy?  I know that moment.  I remember it well.  My firstborn little Buggle was a tiny, plump nine pounds and all squish and squeaks and she was so perfect and I made her so many promises.  She was (and is) the most precious treasure I had ever beheld and i knew I would do everything in my power to protect her.

I haven’t.  I’m an imperfect, sinful human being and I have not upheld those promises.  There are so many times that I am the reason she is crying.  I am the reason she is damaged.  And I think that there are also so many times that I am the reason that she smiles and thrives.  I think this because I am thriving.  I am thriving because of my mom–my imperfect mom.

Then I look at my Mommy and I remember all the years she poured into me–into us– and do you know what we all remember?  The love.  We feel like she filled our cups with it.  We feel like she invested herself into us.  We feel absolutely treasured by her.  I rarely thought of her mistakes until I started making them myself and even then, going back and finding them in my memory was like rifling through old, cobweb-filled files that I never look at.  I had to really search to remember them.  Those moments didn’t define me as a human being.  They didn’t scar me forever.  What defined me was the mom she was as a whole.  The overarching theme of my mom’s parenting style was absolute, unconditional love.  She had moments where her love may have been conditional and she sinned against us and as a mom.  But those moments aren’t what stick with me.  When I think of my Mom, I think of hugs, of her head thrown back in laughter with smile lines wrinkling her eyes.  I think of sunny days and her in a sundress letting me fill my toy sink with water while I “washed” my dishes outside.  I think of the times we sprayed her with the hose and how she got us back in the winter with perfectly timed snowballs.  I think of the hours she spent bent over my shoulder as I labored on penmanship and math papers.  I think of how she daily accepted giant bouquets of dandelions even though she is terribly allergic to them.

My mom loved me.  I am the person I am because of her.  I am the person I am because of all of her.

I hope that when my children grow up, they will look back and remember my love more than my failures.  Thanks to my mom’s example, I think they will.

In the meantime, I will continue to pray to be perfect for them.  I will continue to work on my patience, curbing my temper, and making sure they each have some good, solid, one-on-one mommy time every day even if it is only for a few minutes.  And… I will continue the art of admitting when I’m wrong and showing the the example of forgiveness.

This is a fallen world.  None of us will ever be perfect.  Sometimes, it’s good to remember that.

“As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him.  For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust.”

-Psalm 103: 13-14

God Doesn’t Need Me

When my daughter was about two years old, she liked to “help” me fold the laundry.  I placed the clean clothes from the baskets into nice, neat piles, and she grabbed both folded and yet-to-be folded clothes and waltzed around the house wearing Daddy’s boxers around her neck and sweetly rearranging any work I’d already done that she could reach.  It was a one-step-forward-two-steps-backward kind of job.  I could have stopped her, kept her in a different room, or scolded her for disrupting my plans and my work, but it gave her such joy to feel that she was helping me that I allowed her to continue doing so.  She wasn’t actually helping me, though.  I was helping her.

Now, she’s six.  She actually is capable of folding  the laundry on her own.  She can help string Christmas lights.  She can pick up her room, wipe down tables, empty some dishes…  She actually accomplishes something now that she does chores.  Still, I generally need to walk her through the steps–especially when teaching her something new.  Sometimes she needs her hand held because she forgets how.  Sometimes, she’s trying her best but she’s not quite efficient yet.  Most of the time, I talk her through it, cheer her on, and remind her constantly that she needs to finish what she’s started because she doesn’t want to do her chores or she gets side tracked.  Though she is capable, and she’s a help most of the time, it’s more work for me to have her do many of these chores than to do them myself.  Yet, I make her do them.  I lengthen the time it takes for me to accomplish my own to do list so I can walk my daughter through certain chores she’s old enough to tackle on her own.  I do this for her benefit.  It teaches her valuable life skills and gives her a level of responsibility.  I don’t need her to put away silverware, I want her to put it away because I love her.

A new king came to power in Egypt and he didn’t know anything about the Hebrew Joseph or his people so the Israelites found themselves in bondage.  They were abused, overworked, and mistreated as they built this Pharaoh’s new cities.  In fact, Pharaoh’s intent in all of this was to diminish their numbers.  To kill them.  God’s people were in quite an awful predicament.  God could have easily fixed this problem with the bat of his eye, a word from his mouth, or the swipe of his hand.  Rectifying that problem would have been effortless for Him.  But he used Moses.  Moses who had killed a man and then run away.  Moses, the shepherd, who didn’t even live in Egypt anymore.  Moses who stuttered and lacked self-confidence to such an extent that when he was in the actual, physical presence of God and witnessing the miracle of a bush on fire that did not burn, he still couldn’t rouse enough faith to believe he could do what God asked of him.

But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?”

And God said, “I will be with you. And this will be the sign to you that it is I who have sent you: When you have brought the people out of Egypt, you will worship God on this mountain.”

 Moses said to God, “Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what shall I tell them?”

God said to Moses, “I am who I am. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I am has sent me to you.’”

It would have been much easier for God to just do the deed himself.  It would have been more convenient.  Because of his love for Moses and for the throngs of persecuted Israelites, he didn’t.  He let Moses be His voice.  His arm.  He let Moses be the deliverer. God didn’t need his help, He wanted it.  He wanted it because He knew that the experience would turn Moses into the man he needed to be.  He knew the trials and difficulties of leaving Egypt this way would help form His people into a great nation.  So he took the long way out.  The scenic route.  Because he didn’t need Moses or the Israelites, He wanted them. 

Sometimes Every time I feel God move through me,  I subconsciously think, “What would He do without me?”  I’m not always a good parent but in the good moments I forget the bad ones and think that He must really need me to parent these amazing kids.  I’m not always a good teacher but when a teachable God moment comes in my classroom I’m prone to think, “Good thing I was here for that!” Sometimes I get the opportunity to watch a friend’s kids or make a casserole for someone in need and I’m thinking, “Oh yeah! What would God do without me?”  Occasionally I feel prompted to hand food or cash to the guy with the sign at the street corner, or to donate to a good charity (World Vision is my favorite if you’re looking for a place to help out!), or put an extra $10 in the plate for a missionary, and my heart swells at all the good I’m doing.  

The good I’m doing.  

The good I’m doing? 

As if I had anything to do with it.  I’m really just a two year old in the Kingdom proudly running around with boxers around my neck, toppling organized piles of laundry that The Master already folded, unaware that He is behind me fixing the messy trail I leave in my wake.  I’m a six year old who needs someone at my elbow reminding me where the silverware and the cups go; reminding me that I have a job to do so I should probably stop doing cartwheels in the living room and get moving.  

Ultimately, though Moses was God’s vessel, none of the work was his own.  He wasn’t the author of it or the creator of it.  He was the (mostly) obedient one who carried out the specific instructions of his Master.  The words that made the difference? They were God’s.  The miracles?  God’s too.  Moses couldn’t lay claim to any of it.  But look at Moses as he matured.  Look at Moses on Mount Sinai when God gives him the Ten Commandments.  What a different man he is! What a work God did in him as he was using him! He was so much more mature!  He was wiser!  More confident!  God took the time to invest in him and had the patience to use him to do a task for which he wasn’t qualified (on his own), and my how it changed his life for the better.  He was still sinful and still imperfect, but my how he had grown!

It’s utterly humbling to look at Moses’s example, and that of my children and to realize that I’m no different.  God doesn’t need me at all.  He loves me so he lets me help Him.  He allows me to bumble through His plans and disrupt his organized pattern so He can form me and I can grow.  When I see my life that way–for what it really is–it makes all the difference.  On the one hand it’s humbling to know that I’m actually incapable.  On the other hand it’s comforting to know that my Father loves me enough to let me “help” Him anyway.  

God doesn’t need me.  He wants me.

Fun Homeschooling Product

I found this cool Bible ABC Notebook for preschoolers that I’d love to purchase and use for my children.  There are SO MANY homeschool resources out there and it can be dizzying to try to find one that will work for you, especially when they’re all so good! Currently my husband just picks our morning bible story and I either scrounge the internet for free resources or make them myself in the half hour or so before I use them with my son and my little babysitting charge. I found this particular unit this morning while doing my regular “worksheet and activities” search.  Today we’re going to talk about the parable of the house built on the rock and on the sand.  It’s great making your own stuff, but who has time for that?  I certainly don’t! I’m so thankful for the curriculum we purchased for my daughter who is in kindergarten.  It is a wonderful skeleton on which to build her lessons and units.  Sometimes we follow it religiously and she does all the worksheets (like when I was nine months pregnant,  had a newborn in the house, or just when I can’t seem to get all the littles down for a nap at the same time), and sometimes we scrap the books and the plans all together and do our own fun activities–like a market day which she LOVES! (I’ll have to post about that another time).

Anyway, I don’t feel that preschool a necessity but the two preschoolers in my care just love it. They look forward to it every day! So…I find myself making lesson plans I don’t really have time for in my hectic mommy/babysitter/teacher/writer/blogger/freelancer/housekeeper/cook schedule.  I think for next year, I’d like to just purchase this Bible notebook.  It has tons of activities for each letter  of the alphabet and it isn’t very aggressive so I don’t think I’ll feel like I’m shoving learning down their throats before they’re ready.  Also, I really love tying our lessons into our Bible reading. It’s obviously not a necessity, but it’s always nice to bring it all together.

Parenting in Pictures

The Day of Rest

^“12 “Observe the Sabbath day by keeping it holy, as the Lord your God has commanded you. ¹³ You have six days each week for your ordinary work, ¹⁴ but the seventh day is a Sabbath day of rest dedicated to the Lord your God. On that day no one in your household may do any work. This includes you, your sons and daughters, your male and female servants, your oxen and donkeys and other livestock, and any foreigners living among you. All your male and female servants must rest as you do. ¹⁵ Remember that you were once slaves in Egypt, but the Lord your God brought you out with his strong hand and powerful arm. That is why the Lord your God has commanded you to rest on the Sabbath day.” (from Deuteronomy chapter 5)

I always knew the Sabbath rest was intended for man.  Mark 2:27 says “Then Jesus said to them, “The Sabbath was made to meet the needs of people, and not people to meet the requirements of the Sabbath.”  It makes sense.  After a long week of work, our bodies really do need to rest! This past year, my husband and I have truly dedicated the Sabbath for rest and for family for the first time ever and it’s made a huge difference in our family relations and on how much energy we have to complete the week.  No matter what we still have on our plate, we drop it on Sundays.  Ironically (yet not surprisingly, knowing God), this has meant we are less busy and get more done because we’re more charged and capable of doing our tasks after the Sabbath rest. 

What I didn’t realize is that the Sabbath rest (well, Sunday rest for Christians), has another purpose: It reminds us the bondage and slavery we came from.  The Jews had just come out of years of slavery in Egypt.  From what I read in the passage in Deuteronomy 5, I assume that they never had a day of rest.  “Remember that you were once slaves in Egypt, but the Lord your God brought you out with his strong hand and powerful arm.  That is why the Lord your God has commanded you to rest on the Sabbath day.”  Pretty sweet, huh?  It wasn’t only a true physical need that prompted God to give us Sabbath rest, it was a teaching device.  It was symbolic.  You were once slaves, and now you’re not.  Slaves don’t get rest.  You get rest. 

Jesus came and changed everything.  His death and sacrifice on the cross, His “Rescue Plan” as the What’s in the Bible DVD series calls it, set us free from the bondage of sin–the slavery of sin.  We used to have to follow sin’s directives, like it or not.  You know the feeling. Paul talked about it: 

Romans 7:

^“14 So the trouble is not with the law, for it is spiritual and good. The trouble is with me, for I am all too human, a slave to sin. ¹⁵ I don’t really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don’t do it. Instead, I do what I hate. ¹⁶ But if I know that what I am doing is wrong, this shows that I agree that the law is good. ¹⁷ So I am not the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.

¹⁸ And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature.^[d] I want to do what is right, but I can’t. ¹⁹ I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway. ²⁰ But if I do what I don’t want to do, I am not really the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.

²¹ I have discovered this principle of life—that when I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong. ²² I love God’s law with all my heart. ²³ But there is another power^[e] within me that is at war with my mind. This power makes me a slave to the sin that is still within me. ²⁴ Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death? ²⁵ Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord. So you see how it is: In my mind I really want to obey God’s law, but because of my sinful nature I am a slave to sin.”

It doesn’t end there, with us being slaves to sin.  Paul continues with the hopeful part of the story in the next chapter: 

Romans 8: “1 So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus. ² And because you belong to him, the power^[a] of the life-giving Spirit has freed you^[b] from the power of sin that leads to death. ³ The law of Moses was unable to save us because of the weakness of our sinful nature.^[c] So God did what the law could not do. He sent his own Son in a body like the bodies we sinners have. And in that body God declared an end to sin’s control over us by giving his Son as a sacrifice for our sins. ⁴ He did this so that the just requirement of the law would be fully satisfied for us, who no longer follow our sinful nature but instead follow the Spirit.” 

Because of Jesus sacrifice, we no longer have to follow the natural law of sin in our bodies because the Holy Spirit gives us power not to.  When we surrender to Christ, we don’t want to sin anymore.  We still sin, but we are constantly moving past it, going forward towards perfection.  And when we sin, it doesn’t have to define us.  We are forgiven and God forgets us and gives us the power to move on.  Like forgiveness, for instance.  When we hold unforgiveness in our hearts, it doesn’t feel like a choice.  It feels like we have to be hateful and unforgiving towards the one who has wronged us.  But when we surrender that to Jesus (and I tell you this from experience), He gives us the power over it.  Unforgiveness can amazingly turn into love and forgiveness through His spirit! It isn’t necessarily an easy path from the one to the other, but it is a possible and freeing path.  

So the Sabbath has a rest now has a new meaning for me: because we are no longer slaves to sin, now we can rest from its labors.  Because our physical body needs this rest, our spiritual body can be reminded of its rest as well.  

And yet again, I’m amazingly reminded of how beautiful and perfect the Word of God is.  There is nothing like the Bible in this entire world.   

The Laundry Room

Ever since we moved into our home, our spacious and completely unfinished basement has had four bare light bulbs in the four quarters of it’s ceiling to illuminate the very large space.  These light bulbs dimly illuminate the space, allowing you to see just enough to get around.  They do not effectively light the space.  There are lots of dark corners, I’ve often tripped, and things get misplaced in cracks between boxes and furniture.  Spiders and other creepy crawlers are hiding in the dim recesses and I don’t usually venture to put a hand anywhere dark.    It is a dimly lit basement.  There is only just enough light to function–to barely function.

My laundry room is in one of these dimly lit quarters and has been lit by one, sparse bulb for all of the six years that we have lived in this house.  For these six years I have washed and folded laundry, and hung my cloth diapers to dry in a space that was barely visible.  When we have dryer lint to dispose of, I sort of fling it in the direction of the trash can, not necessarily caring if it makes it in because I won’t see it anyway.  No one will.  At some point, I’ll try to collect any lint that didn’t make it in and dispose of it properly.  When socks fall off the folding table, I may or may not find them.  I figure if I don’t get to them today then they’ll eventually show up.  This is how it has always been in my laundry room.  Basically, for as long as we’ve lived in our little ranch house, we have functioned in semi darkness while cleaning our clothes, and storing crafts and boxes of sentimental memories.

Recently, my husband has started refinishing this space, beginning with the laundry room because it’s what we use the most.  In the process of this remodel he installed four lights into the ceiling over the laundry area.  He called me downstairs and turned them on for me, and it was like I was seeing the room for the first time! I noticed two things when those lights were turned on, bright and white.

1) I can function so much more efficiently in the brightly illuminated space.  I can see what I am doing so much better! I am no longer handicapped by the darkness.  I no longer have to rely on memory or sense of touch to feel around for any missing socks in the washer or dryer drum.  I no longer have to guess where the garbage can for the lint was.  I can see if one of my clean socks falls outside of the sock box.  It is as if I had been blind before and I am seeing for the first time.

2) I can see all the stains, all the dust, all the misplaced wires, toys, lint, and clothing.  The sheets that hang over the side of the wardrobe waiting to be folded look much more awful and unkempt now.  The dust bunnies growing under the table and in corners are so much uglier now that I can really see them.  The mismatched carpets that I use to keep my feet warm in the winter are stained and look pretty dingy and awful.  The cement floor is stained too.

The light helps me to function better and it also shows all the flaws of this space.

Both of these things are good things, though.  It’s obvious why it’s better to be able to function more efficiently, but probably not so obvious why it’s good to see all the flaws.  If I can see the flaws, I can fix them. I can clean the little rugs and pick up the misplaced toys and socks, and I can get rid of the dust bunnies.  I couldn’t do that before when I couldn’t see them.

The Bible talks a lot about light in many different contexts.  I’ve picked out a few scriptures that mention how the light affects our lives.  I feel that my laundry room is a great example of what God means in the following scriptures:

“Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.” -Psalm 119:105

“When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life’.” -John 8:12

“For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth) and find out what pleases the Lord. Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them.  It is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret.  But everything exposed by the light becomes visible—and everything that is illuminated becomes a light.” -Ephesians 5: 8-13

A relationship with God serves as our light.  It’s impossible to walk with Him and try to remain in our sin because our closeness to Him will reveal our sin.  We can either repent from it and follow Him, or we can turn from Him.  It is impossible to walk close to Him and continue in habitual sins.  Having the light shined on our sin is both a relief, and really uncomfortable.   It exposes embarrassing things and ugly things about ourselves and forces us to take action concerning them.  But that exposure and the purifying that follows is beautiful.  When we humble ourselves and allow God to cleanse us from sin, there is a peace and a relief that is indescribable.  We not only see the dark, dirty places of our heart, but we are also able to function so much better without the handicaps that sin has imposed upon us for so long.  The light and it’s influence shows us our sins and sets us free.  

So walk in the light. Spend time in the Word of God and in prayer.  Let his presence illuminate you.  You’ll find that maybe you were blind all this time and you just didn’t realize it.  Maybe there has always been a better way to function and you were missing out on it. Maybe you could have been seeing so much more in life than you thought you could.  I promise, you will function much more efficiently and joyfully if you can just turn on that light.

 

Peace

I think one can mistakenly think that peace is the lack of conflict.  Lack of worry.  Absence of fear.  A calm.  A soothing place without trials.

In my daily life peace is quiet.  Stillness.  Naptime.  My morning coffee next to a Bible and my journal.

In my perception peace is a time when everything is going right.  No unexpected sickness.  A balanced, debt-free budget.  No problems.  No accidents.

Then, today happened.  With this week preceding it.  Today full of tears and emotion and panic.  Today where my 2 year old says, “Mommy cryin.  Okay, Mommy?” and my 5 year cries with me because in my anguish I forget her tender heart.

Today God is showing me that my perception of peace thus far has been wrong.  Today my life is in turmoil and my tears mingle with the dishwater.  Today my flesh wants to drown out His voice and wallow in my impossible circumstances.  But today God says “Peace, be still,” to my anguished heart.  Today he quiets the churning waters and gives me a calm in spite of inner conflict.  A quiet despite the trial.  A place of solace in the midst of my storm.

Peace is not a still, quiet, lack of difficulty.  True peace is the presence of God within the difficulty.  Peace is Jesus on a fishing boat in the middle of a storm taking a nap.

 ^“Suddenly a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping.  The disciples went and woke him, saying, ‘Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!”

He replied, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?’ Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.

 The men were amazed and asked, ‘What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!’”

-Matthew 8: 24-27

Jesus Heals the Paralytic: Preschool and Kindergarten Activities

Lately I’ve been doing preschool with my son and the little girl I babysit in addition to kindergarten with my six year old.  They love sorting, sizing, cutting, letter identification activities and more and my six year old loves doing school with other kids.  We also read a Bible story four out of five days so I started tying the two together, rather than always having two, unattached activities.  Today, we’re going to read about Jesus healing the paralyzed man.  Here are some activities that I’ve found online and some that I put together my self.

 

I hope you can find it all useful!

Becca

For my kindergartner/first grader (She’s in both grades sort of)

Weaving mat and scripture found here.

Word puzzle activities found here.

For both preschool and kindergarten: this cool cutting, puzzle activity.

For my preschoolers I made up this letter identifying activity which I’m hoping you can copy and paste onto a document as I don’t have the wherewithal this morning to attach a document to this post.  🙂