Lest you think our lives are always exciting and crazy and/or discouraging and hard, let me assure you that most of our days get spent in-the-betweens. Making mud-pies and banana bread, washing dishes and folding clothes. These last two tasks feel endless, as a matter of fact, a picture of unending cycles if I ever saw one.
I love my neighborhood more easily in the spring-time. The weather warms just enough for everyone to emerge with music and singing. Adam plays Disney from the newly installed speakers on our back patio, and the kids spin and dance particularly loudly when a Frozen song comes on. With the sun comes pulsing beats from cars parked out front, and the kind of off-key singing that emerges from teenagers singing with colorful headphones over their ears.
We sit on the bright yellow swing, and the kids color and eat Easter-colored Goldfish, waving at the steady stream of people heading to the park and corner store. Occasionally we are joined by kids and straggles of teenagers and I mentally kick myself for forgetting to pick up popsicles at the grocery store.
I love my neighborhood more easily in the spring-time. The weather warms just enough for everyone to emerge with music and singing. Adam plays Disney from the newly installed speakers on our back patio, and the kids spin and dance particularly loudly when a Frozen song comes on. With the sun comes pulsing beats from cars parked out front, and the kind of off-key singing that emerges from teenagers singing with colorful headphones over their ears.
We sit on the bright yellow swing, and the kids color and eat Easter-colored Goldfish, waving at the steady stream of people heading to the park and corner store. Occasionally we are joined by kids and straggles of teenagers and I mentally kick myself for forgetting to pick up popsicles at the grocery store.
I worry about how to disciple my own kids, how to discipline them, and how to make them eat their vegetables. Usually, I forget about homework until the last minute and despair of getting them to ever clean their rooms. My belly swells and I still cant keep food down, and I try to remember that God knew who I was before he gave me all three of these little ones to shepherd.
Mostly, we get messy and make lots of mistakes. We double-book and dont always remember to show up. Our best intentions fall short, and we bring a half-eaten loaf of banana bread to dinner. And everywhere, grace.
Because the longer I live here, the longer I parent and neighbor and sometime write, the less I know about it all. I'm never sure what to say and what to leave out, or how to process our lives and stories without infringing onto someone else's. I dont know 10 Tips for Becoming a Better Mother, or How to Force Teenage Boys to Make Good Decisions. I dont know how to combat racism and systems of oppression, or when to keep my mouth shut. And I especially dont know how to help the neighborhood elementary school kids with their fancy new math.
I'm hoping the not-knowing is ok. That grace covers and fills the gaps where I fall short again and again. That my weakness and exhaustion will only point me and those around me to His great strength. That resting doesnt mean failure and that one day all the hurt will be healed.
Because most of our days are quite ordinary. The kind of lives all of you live, behind your own front doors and perhaps on your own porch swings. And ordinary will always be enough when we lay it down for His glory. When we choose to live and love well, even in the most mundane messes of all.