Who Makes the List Anyway?

I don't know if you are a list person or not.  Some days I am.  Some days I definitely am not.  Some would say that lists are essential for keeping routines and life running smoothly.  I say they help, but sometimes the moment or even the day unravels whether I had that list or not.  Don't get me wrong, unraveling is just fine sometimes.  If the day being knit wasn't turning out too pretty, unraveling may be the perfect solution.  If that "just perfect" sweater project was almost complete and it became half undone...well, that's a different story.

Just the other day, I asked my more than challenging 3 year old (do you have one of those?) to do something for me.  I don't even remember what it was...a simple task, something she probably does everyday.  Her response?  "Mom, that's not on my to-do list."  Really.  You are 3, can't form any letters yet, and you've got a to-do list?

It certainly made me me chuckle, but it also made me think.  Am I writing my to-do list all by myself?  Sure, I'm capable of choosing what goes on it, and in a sense I have the responsibility to make a list and use the time I have wisely.

But in the bigger picture, do I ask God what He has on my to-do list?  Is my heart open, am I listening each day for that voice to guide me, even in the day to day?  I'm not so sure.  I've probably said to God more than a few times, "That's not on my to-do list!"  An unexpected mess, a neighbor who needed a listening ear, a surprise visitor, sickness, character training.  These are just some of the little things.  Then there's the big things that totally shove our lists out of the way and change our day, our week, maybe our lives completely.  Some of you know that kind of list destroyer all too well.

So, while I'm capable of keeping my own to-do list, I think I'll ask God what He's got on my to-do list today.  Tomorrow.  And every day after that. It's better that His way.

Beauty by Who's Hands?

 I like to read a blog or two.  Almost every day, if I get a chance.  I like to write blog entries.  On rare occasions, when I force  myself to take the time.  But that's life with little ones, lots of them.  And that's life for many others too.  Even if they don't have lots of little ones.  But I hope they do.  Or at least had littles that are now bigs.  That's the book series I could write!  You know, the "Littles" series, you read, or at least I read, when I was a tween?  I could write a "Bigs" series.  Maybe I'd give it a better title.  About giant people.  I don't think it would do so well.  "Bigs" aren't quite as cute and intriguing as "Littles."

But its the littles that drive me to write, most of the time.  They teach me things.  Actually, God uses them to teach me things.  Things I didn't think I wanted to know.  But I do.  Deep down I want to learn those hard lessons, no matter how painful.  They make me who I am.  God uses them to form me into who He wants me to be.  And this is another one of those.  A story about one of my littles, all of them really.  And how God used them to open my eyes, to see His truths in a new way.

Before I go head long into it though, don't think for a minute that this Mom of seven (yeah, I know, I didn't change my blog title for 2 little girls now; its not that important is it?) has finally figured out how to get it ALL done and am able to sit down at 8:30, after my girlies are tidily (that would imply they've all had a bath today) snuggled under their covers, curled up in my own pajamas after my own shower, sip some coffee, and write a blog post or two, without another daily task on my list of to-do.

Just so you know (and maybe it will encourage you), that's not even close to reality.  In fact, there are 10 (at last count) loads of laundry waiting to be folded, all corralled in laundry baskets along the north wall in my dining room.  The sink is full of dishes from dinner.  I am still in my street clothes and in need of another shower.  My nose is clogged and runny (I don't know how it is both) and my ears are ringing from a 3 1/2 week long cold, my eyes are watery from allergies, my hair is not really combed, and make-up didn't make it anywhere near my face today...but here I am.  Raw.  Weary.  A mess.  Humbled.  Yet I am still loved by my creator, a source of God's joy, no matter what.  And it is in that spirit that I share a piece of my life with you.

The day was not much different than most.  Routines, or at least an attempt at them.  Craziness in the morning, a lull, craziness at lunch.  It was in that noon time shuffle that the blessing was tucked.  I didn't expect it, wasn't looking for it.  But I sure am glad my eyes saw it.   A beautiful illustration given to me by God, through Mikayla. She is unique.  Already carries labels, negative ones, don't we all.  Strong willed.  Gluten sensitive.  Challenging.  Passionate.  Emotional.  Sensitive.  Full of life.  He is using her to mold me, to give me new life. Some day I will see it all more clearly.  Today I saw this picture as if I was holding it in my hands.  

I picked up an Easter Lily for our Passover meal. It had three blooms, with only one open. I looked forward to them opening on or around Easter. One of them did. It smelled of spring, of new life.  And it was beautiful. All of the girls excitedly noted the blooming flower, and anxiously awaited the third bloom to open.  

Mikayla wanted to see that new bloom too.  And she wasn't about to wait.  Away from any watchful eyes, she pried apart that last bloom. Pried at it.  Peeled it back.  Pulling some off.  Leaving it partially attached, but stringy and drooping. Lifeless. Not beautiful.

I discovered it just as we were sitting up for lunch.  Mikayla was supposed to be there with us.  I was frustrated, disappointed. I didn't yell, but I roughly moved her away from the damaged bloom and asked why she had to destroy everything?  She hurried away from me into the mud room, plopped herself on the rug by the patio door, obviously put out. I wasn't sure why. She knew I wasn't happy.  I figured it was more because I had moved her away from her latest "project";  demise of all things neat and orderly. 

The seeker of beauty.

As I continued with my chores, getting a few more things on the table for consumption, I heard her muttering. I listened carefully, but could not make out her words clearly.  Dropping my dish cloth for the moment, I walked over to her, and sat on the floor facing her.  I wondered what the muttering was all about. I didn't expect such a simple answer from a child to hold such meaning for my heart.  Her response hit me like a ton of bricks. It took me a moment, but God made His point clear. In her small, little girl voice, with a big Mikayla frown and furrowed brows, "I just wanted to make the flower beautiful."  She wasn't just upset at me.  She wasn't upset that I had taken her from "messing" with the flower.  She was put out because she was looking for the beauty, trying to make something beautiful, and had not succeeded.  

Isn't that just like me?  Is it like you?  Not 5 minutes earlier I was on a tirade with my older girls because they weren't loving each other, they are always bickering.  Picking at this, whining about that, turning their backs to each other, putting each other down.  I longed for their hearts to change, wanted them to be beautiful on the inside, so that I could see it blooming outwardly.  Blossoms of their loving kindness toward each other...kind words, thoughtful deeds, warm smiles, encouragement. 

Mikayla wasn't the only one trying to force her control on a beautiful outcome.  I too was trying to open a bloom by my power, with my words.  I was trying to make things beautiful on my own accord, in my own way, in my own time. God's teaching was gentle, beautiful. I can't make beauty bloom when I want it to, on my time, through my works. God opens the flowers, His power unfolds each petal, and in His time. 

 

We are called to care for each plant...give it what it needs to grow and thrive.  A fertile soil, fresh water, a warming light.  This I can provide, with God's help.  And then I must wait, wait for the seed to grow, the seedling to sprout and stretch upward, a bloom to form and the petals to open in a beautiful display of God's handiwork.

Our inner beauty will be displayed too,  by God's power, in God's time.  Just as we were waiting for that final bloom to burst forth, we had waited for Resurrection day to come, to remember when God conquered death, and to look forward with anticipation when He will return again.  Spring is here.  It is time for new life. I want new life through joy, moment by moment.  I desire to let God bring about the beauty, to be patient, to do His work, but let His timing unfold, in due season.  What new life do you long for and need?