God in Everything
I’m visiting Michigan for a month. It’s beautiful here. This is where my husband grew up, swimming and splashing in the same lake where his own children now swim and splash every summer. Our kids are the 5th generation to call this “home,” even though it’s only a few weeks out of the year for us.
I love that sort of tradition and rootedness to a place.
While being here is glorious, getting ready to be here was not. Laundry, cleaning, squeezing everything that 4 people need for a month into 2 suitcases, Cupcake unpacking what was already packed, the mile-long to-do lists before we left. I was Momzilla incarnate during those final days before takeoff.
Driving around town on one of those chaotic days before leaving, just me and my ever-present entourage of three, Brownie said something which gave me pause:
Mommy, I see God in everything.
I nearly spit out the thrice-reheated Starbucks as my eyes filled with tears and my heart swelled with conviction.
I fail to see God in everything. I want to. I need to. I’m learning to. Slowly. But typically my grown-up self is too preoccupied with the business of busy-ness, the service of domesticity, and the selfishness of my own agenda.
The conversation did not remain lofty for long. I’m always amused by children’s ability to go from the profound to the absurd in one fell swoop:
Mommy, is God in my ice cube? If He is, then am I eating Him?
Does God have a pinky? I think he does have a pinky.
Nonetheless, I long for the eyes and heart and faith of a child. I think I outgrew it about 28 years ago. And now, at 36, I am desperately trying to squeeze back into my kid suit.
Being here, surrounded by the unmistakable beauty of creation, makes it easier.
Yesterday Blondie spotted this butterfly as we walked down to the beach. It put on a show just for us, gracefully flapping its wings and squirming its fat red body.
Later she rescued this baby dragonfly from certain death-by-arachnid, carefully untangling it from a web on the dock and tearfully exclaiming:
Mommy, I just can’t bear the thought of this being its last day alive!
Much to her horror, one of its wings was broken.
This is a rehabilitation center for the baby dragonfly. (See how comfy it is on that big purple flower.)
Though unsuccessful in mending its broken wing, she was successful in creating the most beautiful deathbed a baby dragonfly has ever known. I assured her that no dragonfly has enjoyed such comfort and beauty during its final hours.
She placed the box on her nightstand, fretting over her winged patient until she finally fell asleep. When we awoke this morning, it had passed. Blondie cried and gave it a proper burial in the front yard.
Her tender affection for living things inspires and humbles me. This is her Father’s world.
I love the quote that inspires my photographer friend, Sarah:
Earth’s crammed with Heaven, And every common bush afire with God; But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.
-Elizabeth Barrett Browning
It’s easy to see Earth crammed with Heaven in the splendor of this place. To take off my shoes in reverent wonder.
Beneath a canopy of towering firs and decades-old maples, we have gazed upon deer and sand hill cranes, geese and orioles, groundhogs and snapping turtles, fish and clams.
And all of this has nourished my dry and desperate grown-up soul, reviving my childlike gift of seeing God in everything.
The real test will be grasping it in the everyday life I’ll return to in July.
At least I’ll have helpers.
While these children of mine have much to be taught, I sometimes wonder if their teacher has just as much to learn from them.
*This post is part of “Tuesdays Unwrapped” at Chatting at the Sky.
Ocean View
Summer’s here and I’m in the mood for all things beachy…except frizzy hair. Beachy reminds me that I’ve never given you folks a tour of the beachiest room in my house: the kids’ room.
Brownie’s side:
{That clutter-covered behemoth is the Lego table. We don’t have a play room or basement so all the toys are relegated to their bedroom.}
Pretty Ice-Cream
I went to a lovely wedding Saturday afternoon. Don’t even get me started on how much I love weddings. Or how I cry at every single one. I love Love.
She simply put together plywood boxes, wrapped them in fabric (which she hot-glued into place), stuffed a bit of light blue tulle in between the box and tub, tied satin ribbon around each box, and finished it off with an elegant label.
My First-Born
Mommy, if God loves everyone then does He love Satan?Mommy, where do they still speak that original language? You know how God confused everyone’s language at the Tower of Babel? Well, where in the world is that original language still spoken?Mommy, it doesn’t seem fair that God and Jesus never sin.Mommy, if God can do anything, He could have thought of another way to save the world.Mommy, what if I’m forced to marry someone I don’t truly love? (at age 3!)
What?!? We used to have slavery here?!? How could any president have ever allowed slavery? I wish I’d been president then! I would have stopped it! How could Americans have ever thought this was okay? Why didn’t someone do something? I don’t understand. I CAN’T BELIEVE AMERICA WAS ONCE SUCH A SAVAGE NATION!!!
Dear Lord, THANK YOU for the 14th Amendment.
Thank you that we are not slaves. Thank you for freedom. Thank you that there’s no slavery in our country anymore. Thank you for the warm, comfy bed I sleep in every night. Thank you for all the food I have. Thank you for my family.
Painted Pots
Most of you readers are already skilled in the ways of spray paint. You can speak of its transforming power. You know of its magic to morph thrift store trash into shabby chic treasure.
Late Bloomer
Vacation
I just returned from my annual trip to Hilton Head Island with The Man, our kids, and the rest of my family. Eighteen of us to be exact. My mom, dad, two brothers, one sister, their spouses and most adorable children.