dishes.

I woke up this morning a little senselessly heavy hearted, rolled over and saw the sun streaming through the window yet again, and decided it would be a lovely morning to meet with the Lord on the back porch in the sunshine. I've been reading (slowly) through the book One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp and I love the challenge it presents to live fully, wholly, right where you are in the here and now. It has challenged me to seek the beauty of the Lord in our every situation. Ann tells her story of living as a farmer's wife, the mother of 6 kids, while facing a lot of hardship. One of my favorite parts is the dedication of the book-- For the Farmer, who tended and grew my soul. Mmm. This morning I was touched by a lot of what I read, but this one passage in particular is ringing clearly through my mind and probably not for exactly the reasons Ann intended it to.

   "You will want to see this."

   He takes my shoulders in his hands, large and field worn, and draws me close. I fight the urge to writhe.

   It's not him. Not his hands holding me, the whisper of his voice, his eyes inviting me now. It's just that I'm feeling time's strangling grip, struggling to make a cathedral of the moment, to hallow it with the holy all here. It's late and I've got an even later dinner to dish onto eight empty plates. A half dozen children noisily, happily, ring the table with their hardly washed hands and silly jokes replete with snorts and grunts and dirty feet still needing bathing. And I haven't served the dinner yet, haven't sliced up the loaf of bread yet, haven't put away the basil, oregano, parsley, the peelings of carrots, the skins of onions, the jars of tomatoes. Still have to grate the cheese into circles in the soup bowls. Still have to wash the dishes, sweep the floors, wash up kids, turn down beds, kneel for the prayers weary and long and needy. My gratitude journal is buried under a mess of papers over the sinks sill with yesterday's snippets of the list that never ends...

   --but nothing counted today. And I know my camera is lying facedown in a cupboard and my windows are finger smudged and my head is right spun and when I carry the water pitcher to the table it leaves drops of clear on the counter, round rim of a circle, one large in the center, and it looks like an eye.

   For a moment, I notice.

   I stare back.

   Then wipe it away.

   The aping racket rises and I feel it mount and I almost yield to its vie, almost acquiesce, almost desecrate the space with words that snap. "Can't I just see whatever it is later?"

   But he's holding on to me gentle. He's smiling broadly. He's leaning his face into all my knotted angst, and his hands slide down my arms, bold, blind love, and his thick fingers twine mine. "Come."

   "Right now?" Can't he see the kids, hear the kids, feel the crush of all these kids?

   He's grinning silly, man-boy with a secret he can hardly contain.

   He leads me the impossible distance of a whole two steps to the windowsill. I'm transfixed. Wonder gapes the mouth open and spirits the words away. 

   His whisper brushes the curl of my ear, "When I saw it, I knew you'd want it too."

   Want it? Who can breathe? I am moon-eyed and moonstruck. I turn to find his eyes and to find words. "Serve dinner? So I can..." So I can what? What is it exactly that I want to do?

   "...So I can run out there?"

   He's laughing at me all wide-eyed, but I don't care and he's used to it, he who made vows to a woman seeker and hunter and chaser. No-- he didn't actually make vows to that woman. But this is the woman I am becoming. That eucharisto is making me-- fulfilling thanks vows to God. I am starved and feast makes me wild. Because really, who gets to touch the moon? Tonight she's close. I might.

   He grins, nods go, and I breathe relief and I remember to grab the camera off the shelf but forget to close the cupboard and I am gone, out the back door, across the back lawn, apron still on.

   I take flight. I feel foolish, like a woman taking photographs of cheese....

One Thousand Gifts, pp. 102-104

I'll stop there. She goes on to comically tell about chasing the moon and about her childhood and the thought of the neighbors watching her and the beauty and magnitude of God and how He asks us, much like he asked the blind man in Luke "What do you want me to do for you?" I could unpack that thought for a while, but that's not where the Lord took hold of me this morning.

I love this story. I love the image of her being so distracted with the million things she has to do and him sweetly, gently pulling her away from it knowing that if she listens, puts it all aside, she will find something beautiful that will captivate her. He knows her, knows what she loves, and is willing to take everything from her that she might be able to chase her dreams. I love this because it looks exactly like my life every single day.

No, I don't have anyone who fits the role of her farmer husband in my life and thankfully I also don't currently have six children. And all of that is okay. I can dream (and often do) of having someone to pull me away, but what I do have is a God who does the very same thing and a to-do list that consumes my mind as well. I have to wonder how often in life God is pulling me, gently leading me to something that will make me smile, and I respond with "can't You wait? don't you see all that I have to do?". I would never do it on purpose, but I know that the Lord is whispering to my heart each day-- whispering people who need to be loved, whispering ways I can serve, and whispering simple things to just make me smile. He knows me better than anyone else ever will and I have to wonder how often I'm missing out on the moon because I'm distracted by the dishes.

When I finished reading this morning I looked around me and laughed a little bit. The first thing I saw? The back porch view of Pineview. It's not a cute place. Our neighbors throw garbage off their porch, the weeds are incredible, I have a great view of a dirt hill, and often the dumpster cats run wild. But I found God there. In the sunshine, in the birds, in the fact that I've been given such a wonderful life. Nothing could have been as sweet this morning as putting aside the things that are worrying me, plaguing me, and just being still and knowing that He is God. I'm not so good at that some days.

I wrote a journal entry yesterday which I titled 'Grateful.' about the fact that if nothing more ever comes, I am grateful for what the Lord has given me today. 

Live fully in the moment. Bloom where planted. Be still and know that I am God.