Sunshine across warm floors....
There is something about sunshine falling across wooden floorboards that transforms me.
Lifts me right up out of the tyranny of self-inflicted schedules.
Into the beauty of living.
There's a portion of a verse that keeps speaking to my soul today:
I get that.
The pondering of the heart.
Maybe that is the lifeblood that motherhood is made of.
I love that scripture included this verse.
In the tale of the Saviour's first days.
Our society today is all about fast. All about keep-up with.
I guess I never have been one to fit in?
I am often all-in-my-head.
Often slower than the rest.
I get muddled easily, so I like to keep myself in the simple.
I am always always pondering in my heart...
The muddled ponderer.
Autumn is amazing to me.
The world is just set ablaze in glory.
I started the day full of self-defeat.
Exhausted from children waking in the deep of the night.
The time and space where our bodies recharge
becomes unpromised in motherhood.
Hitting the pillow never knowing if the rest will be available.
If tonight it is for the taking?
Or maybe next week.
When will I grasp that rest? Wrestle it to the ground?
If a mother's heart never pondered and treasured,
a lonely, exhausting life it would be.
Standing at the kitchen window...
knowing that just a room away I have the most glorious schedule.
in pure Managers of Their Homes style.
Oh, it makes me smile.
That grid, lined up there...little rectangles and structured colors...
naming the stuff of our lives.
The fun and the not-so-fun-necessary stuff,
so that nothing gets missed.
So that in theory, somehow I keep this home all together. Running.
And mornings like this,
the rectangles run together and blurr and skip over each other.
Behind.
Behind.
Behind.
It whispers to me...why can't you ever stay ahead?
Why is it that you can MAKE a schedule so pretty,
and abandon it daily?
Self-defeat is sometimes my middle name.
I looked out the kitchen window as I poured sour milk from a sippy.
Thinking how I wished for clean.
For order.
For rest that comes in a package and doesn't eat up my rectangles.
Right there, outside my window-of-work.
beautiful, brilliant leaves falling like confetti.
Unlimited.
Beauty.
Just there.
How beautiful life is.
How beautiful this messy, unplannable, chaotic life of mine is.
The only tyrrant here?
Is me.
It sometimes takes a great deal of pondering to clear the self-defeat fog from my eyes.
God makes beautiful of messes.
The leaves we try to rake up in neat piles and send away on city trucks?
I love those messes.
I am sad when we rake up the mess of leaves God showered.
I love the way they announce movement on the sidewalks.
The way they sound as the wind whispers throught them.
A symphony for the soul.
What would life be like, all tidied up and perfect?
We left the mess today, the tyranny of the undone.
And we went right out there to the thick of beauty.
On a whim, when really we had other things beckoning.
I don't want my children to remember their youth with rectangles always.
But with chasing beauty,
and embracing messes.
And giving the mind space to ponder in the quiet,
away from the noise of self-defeat.
The noise of perfection.
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