If I'm honest, I dont even know if it's supposed to be day 10 or 11 today so I'm just going to say 10-11 and be done with it. Holla margin (ps - the kiddos think I'm really cool when I say "holla").
Yesterday, as I drove the familiar route home from Jayci's school, the morning air was crisp. I had my favorite scarf loped around my neck and my go-to gray boots on my feet. Brilliant blue sky peeked around puffy white clouds, and all felt right in the world. I slowed to a stop at a yellow light just as it flicked to red. And I thought about how I haven't shared or even learned one practical thing about margin so far. I haven't figured out how to create margin, how to have more time, how to say no to hard and pressing needs all around me. I don't know how to stay on top of the losing battle against the clutter and laundry (both dirty and clean) strewn about the house. And yet, somehow, I had this strange sense of space inside myself. Like I had managed to figure out, miraculously, how to make space for myself even without having any, you know, actual space.
Maybe it's because I've just been more conscious about finding space in my soul, finding time for myself even if it's just five minutes here or there. Maybe because I'm thinking about margin, being intentional about margin, I find myself recognizing those brilliant moments that feel OTHERWISE. The moments that I can step outside of myself, where time stands still. And in the stillness of time, I find space. My soul breathes and I am refreshed.
Now don't get me wrong:sometimes usually these moments are few and far between. But when I start looking for them, I find them nestled between putting Jayci in time-out for the twelfth time today and cleaning already-chewed food from every crevice of Caden's high chair (my most-hated multiple-times-a-day task). Somehow I pause long enough to notice the sun dancing on the hardwoods and glowing on blonde heads as they dance and spin and toss balloons into streams of sunshine.
When so many kiddos pile onto the porch that we can hardly break up one fight before another begins, their voices and questions shrill and grating on my frazzled nerves. So we herd them to the park, where we run and swing and dance, and the sun shines warm on my shoulders. And I step outside of time long enough to recognize the beauty of loving our neighbor as Jayci pushed the most beautiful little punkin on the swings and Caden reaches across for her hand.
When Caden runs around terrorizing and destroying everything in his path. Climbing on chairs and knocking over my diet coke until it fizzes down into the carpet. Scribbling on paper and floor alike. Pulling Jayci's hair and laughing as she shrieks. And suddenly he grabs and kisses a picture of himself fresh from open-heart surgery. And the breath goes out of me and slowly fills back in as I step outside of my mundane to recognize the sacred. And I want to slip off my gray boots in recognition of holy ground. Of redeemed pain and of healing. Of the Father's presence in every mundane moment, in everything we take for granted.
Perhaps I will still learn (and share) some practical things about how we need to create more margin in our lives. In fact, I feel certain that God has some things to teach me on the subject. However, I think first I needed to recognize the space and gifts I already have. And maybe if I keep looking, noticing the margin, for 31 days this month, I'll create a brand new habit and live a life transformed.
Yesterday, as I drove the familiar route home from Jayci's school, the morning air was crisp. I had my favorite scarf loped around my neck and my go-to gray boots on my feet. Brilliant blue sky peeked around puffy white clouds, and all felt right in the world. I slowed to a stop at a yellow light just as it flicked to red. And I thought about how I haven't shared or even learned one practical thing about margin so far. I haven't figured out how to create margin, how to have more time, how to say no to hard and pressing needs all around me. I don't know how to stay on top of the losing battle against the clutter and laundry (both dirty and clean) strewn about the house. And yet, somehow, I had this strange sense of space inside myself. Like I had managed to figure out, miraculously, how to make space for myself even without having any, you know, actual space.
Maybe it's because I've just been more conscious about finding space in my soul, finding time for myself even if it's just five minutes here or there. Maybe because I'm thinking about margin, being intentional about margin, I find myself recognizing those brilliant moments that feel OTHERWISE. The moments that I can step outside of myself, where time stands still. And in the stillness of time, I find space. My soul breathes and I am refreshed.
Now don't get me wrong:
When so many kiddos pile onto the porch that we can hardly break up one fight before another begins, their voices and questions shrill and grating on my frazzled nerves. So we herd them to the park, where we run and swing and dance, and the sun shines warm on my shoulders. And I step outside of time long enough to recognize the beauty of loving our neighbor as Jayci pushed the most beautiful little punkin on the swings and Caden reaches across for her hand.