"Those" days

Remember my last post and the sweet mama who wrote the message that made me laugh out loud: 


"A whole lesson about Jesus and Nate's response is "look at that dinosaur, mama." 

Well, I got another message from her today that made me laugh for entirely different reasons.

She's having one of those days. Not the "those" days that make you want to throw in towel (if you can find one?), not the "those" days that keep you on your knees because there is so much dirt and because clinging to the Lord in prayer is all you can manage, but she's having one of those days.

The kind of those that God graciously gives us mamas to keep us going. The those days where stars and nap times align, your house and your heart make it to the hour of nap time still in order, and you can sit down and enjoy a cup of tea in your favorite cup because it is actually clean. And maybe, just maybe, you have to time to read and (gasp!) knit.

And honestly, my heart is full of joy for her but her note made me laugh because while she's having one of those days, well, I'm having one of "those" days.

You see there are three, yes count them three, little girls age four and under who are snorkelly, snotty, sensitive carriers of a nasty cold and I'm trapped inside the walls of our home with them because it is cold and drizzly outside. There have been dishes perpetually in my sink for days and not because I haven't done them but because no matter how many I wash, no matter how many times the dishwasher's been started, there is always some left in the sink and even more added to that remnant by the time the machine is done cycling.  And no, I can't wash them by hand because all of the hand towels are dirty.  The overflowing baskets of clean clothes in the laundry room have become such great friends with the baskets of dirty clothes that truth be told I can't tell where one stops and another begins. And we're only batting 300ish on naps today.  I've thrown out all the "rules" and sprinted upstairs multiple times to pop back in a pacifier hoping to woo the babe back to sleep and I even just broke a giant rule and tried to nurse her back to sleep. Oh dear, I can hear through the monitor that it didn't work.

I'll be right back...

It is several hours later and we made it through nap time with almost one nap--the UPS man dropped off a package, the dog woke the only child that was doing what she was supposed to and while I tried to finish this post earlier, my computer suddenly shut down and I was a lucky recipient of the blue screen of death.

And no, I don't know what we're having for dinner.

One of "those" days.


I write all this because somewhere along the way I may have given a few of you the wrong idea about our home...that somehow I am this wonder mom who always has clean hair, polished floors, freshly ground flour and saintly children.

And I just want to clear up any misunderstanding.

I can't remember the last time I washed my hair, our floor looks like a bomb exploded, I did manage to run the dishwasher and start a load of laundry but yes, you guessed it, there are a few dishes stacked next to the sink.  The flicker of candlelight dances in shadows on our walls but I lit them to cover up the strange smell coming from my kitchen drain and yes, there is music playing and I am singing but only because singing the words "if you don't clean up your mess, I'll string you up by your toes" sounds so much better than speaking them.  Hymns steady my heart reminding me of God's mercy and I play them because on "those" days, I am much less likely to actually follow through with my sing-song threat to string up my sweet children if I'm hearing "thy mercy is more than a match for my heart..."  My saintly daughter just told me she's "all out of helping for today."  Dinner ignited in the oven and there were real live flames and the baby that won't sleep is actually sick and cutting her very first tooth and I can see it. And finally, that thing about me you think is "wistful and whimsical," it may just be flaky.  Having three children under four does something to your brain.

But, by the grace of God, I'm still laughing.  I do indeed have these days and "those" days and sometimes He slips in one of those days to remind me of how incredibly blessed I am to be here in this runny-nosed, war-torn madhouse.  Blessed I say, blessed.

With each nose I wipe God reminds me of how precious the owner of that nose really is, how precious our days are, how numbered they may be. An update on a new little one whose parents trust God with abated breaths while they wait for her to take each breath reminds me to treasure 'those' days and these moments.  And I pray the grace to see each moment with gratitude, to remember that

All. is. grace.

Each breath, each dampened tissue, each dirty dish calls out to me to remember what I have been given.

The flickering lights that were once lit to hide a stench become silent reminders that Jesus is the light and in Him there is no darkness at all. Rather than music to keep my temper at bay the words remind my soul of why I should sing and for Whom I should sing. And we all begin to sing.  And in our home, with singing comes dancing.

"There she goes" you're thinking, "with the candles and the singing, I'll bet the sun is shining and the drizzles have disappeared."

Well, not exactly.  There was a glimpse of sunshine and for that I am grateful but really, all the things of this morning, of "those" mornings break me every time they happen and never, ever, do I gracefully dance my way through one of those days (or really any day) without stepping on someone's little toes.  And with a step here and a step there I can crush toes and hopes and trust, and ultimately fall short.  Fall short of who I want to be as a wife, as a mother, as His daughter.  Fall short of His glory. 

It is in a puddle on my kitchen floor holding the wounded child, nursing her foot or her heart that my own brokenness becomes evident and I squeeze her closely and remind us both that it is grace we need and grace we have been given.

Grace that causes us in our brokenness to rise and compels us to continue to dance in wonder.  This evening these words from Ann Voscamp resonate in my heart--

When we are broken, we take nothing for granted and we are astonished by breath and being and the most simple extraordinary grace. When we are broken, being at all is the wonder, everyday grace is the miracle, and we see that this is what is real: everything is a staggering gift. 

This is what is real...

“Would you like more tea?” she asks, the red yarn of the Raggedy she has crooked under her arm, dipping into the cup’s water.

Yes. I say. More.

She hands me the cup and I take it carefully. This is the only way to to do anything. I will walk carefully and I will walk gently and I will walk with reverence, in humility and aware of grace everywhere, and I will walk with gratitude.

Isn’t this our vocation in this world?

To give thanks.

Yes, we will cook and we will clean and we will make with our hands and build and dig and grow, but our real vocation in this world is giving Him glory, always giving Him thanks in all things. Mostly always giving thanks. How else can we rightly respond? What do we rightfully deserve?...

This is the way to sing the broken-hearted hallelujah: To do the very work that Christ did in the end, to take up the vocation of the Last Supper. To take all as grace and give thanks.

But there is more, because Christ did more: We must then break the bread and we must then give the bread and what is greater in this life than to be bread for another man?

This is our hard work in the world — to sing the hard hallelujah. I realize that this is part of the singing: it isn’t enough to say I give thanks if I don’t give....

Giving thanks is more than a folding of the hands and murmuring relief. Giving thanks means to give… to live broken and given.

Ann's words exhort me to live and to give and to really to see that all is grace. Broken I rise, and broken I give, and broken I wash, and broken I wipe noses and broken I know that only through Christ crucified am I made whole again. 

My daily mantra becomes Acts 9:34-35

"...Jesus Christ heals you; rise and make your bed.” And immediately he rose. And all the residents of Lydda and Sharon saw him, and they turned to the Lord.

On this day, which is one of "those" days, because of grace, because He is the One who makes whole, I do rise (and sometimes even make my bed) but I turn, turn to the Lord, and give thanks.

But he was wounded for our transgressions;
he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
and with his stripes we are healed.

 ~Isaiah 53:5

Rejoice always,  

pray without ceasing, 

give thanks in all circumstances; 

for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

~ I Thessalonians 5: 16-18