All Together Now

What does it mean when everything is going smoothly and you feel you have it all together?

Disaster will soon strike? Your mood will fall? Something will crash? Perhaps a trip to the emergency room?

Something . . .

Anything . . .

Or could I possibly be optimistic enough to believe that all's well that is well.

Is it luck?

or blessing?

a strange roll of the dice?

favoritism?

my optimistic mind set?

I guess other people may not describe a house in this state of mess as "having it all together".

But I've come to chose my togetherness.

So, I may not be able to walk across the living room floo

r without seriously injuring a foot; half my head of hair is tangly-entwined in the carpet; I'm currently surrounded by piles that reach my elbows.

But I sewed a Halloween costume, planned a birthday party, get my pictures on my picasa site every month, remember baptismal birthdays, mail family pictures to my grandmas every month, exercise at least five days a week, sleep in, have tea parties, and waste time on facebook.

And that is my definition of having it all together. Being able to do the things I love to do; keep on top of the things that I deem unavoidable (paying bills), and smile and nod at the things that others may shake their head at, but I've come to believe doesn't make or break my day.

So maybe having it all together just means I'm ready for the next challenge.

Or maybe I just need to have more tea parties.

The Gospel of Potty

The adventure has begun . . .

Today marks day four of potty training extravaganza.

When Blazer went into his room naked, slammed the door shut, and came out wearing a diaper, I knew it was time to pull the plug.

Very ingenious, my son. Time to get down to business.

The moment I heard that first "tinkle" after two hours of temper tantrums and one hour of sitting on the side of the tub while Blazer leaned limply onto my lap . . . I knew I was in the midst of one of my proudest mommy moments ever.

I was blessed with a real and physical moment of the essence of parenthood: teaching our children independence . . . teaching them how to fly on their own.

A movie reel flashed before my eyes and I realized my job as mom is to teach my children to become adults. It will happen quickly. In less time than I can imagine, I will be watching my son throw his graduation cap into the air. He will be able to dress himself, feed himself, go to the bathroom by himself . . . and hopefully a myriad of other 18 year old abilities.

I hope I raise him to be faithful, compassionate, kind, sensitive, and caring. I hope he will want to serve others; I hope he will treat others as he wishes to be treated. I hope he has many adventures, the opportunity to love deeply, play abundantly, trust fully, and live with great abandon.

Parenthood is amazing, isn't it?

All this from a tinkle in the toilet.

And a small tear in my eye.

Housework Theology

I need a maid.

And a cook.

Might as well throw in a butler and make it an even three.

Why in the world does housework consume so much time and energy? It doesn't even make sense. The human race has evolved into such intellectual, creative beings -- why do we still have to cook and clean and do other treacherous chores?

I am just egotistical enough to believe that my unique gifts and talents could be much better used than emptying a dishwasher or scrubbing a bathtub. (That one is the worst. Scrubbing bathtubs is the bane of my existence.)

I could drop all those housework hours into a glorious "family ministry" piggy bank where they would be spent on meaningful endeavors.

Why not? Why not pay me enough to hire a fabu trio of housework gurus? I think we all agree that ministry with families and youth is important enough to warrant that!

And then I glance around and notice that everyone does house-chores, to some varying degree: my teacher mom, an oncologist I once housesat for, the dentist who is building his own personal badminton court from the pocket I fill . . . psychologists, journalists, professors, farmers, mechanics . . . it is below all of us . . .

or have we shoved it down there on our own accord . . . crowning ourselves kings and queens of the universe as if we're not fit for such menial tasks?

It used to be that house chores were the stuff of life. Hunting, gathering, sweeping out the mud and poo, crafting clothes and keeping the wild animals at bay.

I guess we're the lucky ones . . . adding art museums and literature, blockbuster hits and hiking trails to the mix.

Perhaps I need to remind myself that housework is IT. And the rest is just a bonus.

That's life. You eat, sleep, and make messes. And suddenly (as mommy-dom dawns) small, dependent people need a safe, peaceful, life-affirming environment. That means a clean, bug-free place to eat, a mold-free place to bathe, a trip-free place to walk, a chaos-free place to rest, an interesting place to learn, a fascinating place to play, and a beautiful place think and dream and discover.

Suddenly it's more than folding laundry or picking up toys or scrubbing a toilet . . . it's an act of love.

Housework: it's the way we care for our children. It's the ultimate gift -- peace, love, safety, beauty. It's a selfless act of time and energy. It's the stuff of life -- of health and survival. It's the job of all jobs . . . the hardest job you'll hardly love . . . the pinnacle of servanthood. The beginning and the end.

Perhaps that's what housework is all about.

I think I'll take the maid.

Something Has Happened

Something has happened.

Not so long ago, my days were spent in a roomy office surrounded by bright crayon drawings, scraps of fabric, melted down candles, piles of books, a Goodwill couch, handwritten songs, well-intentioned parents, seeking teenagers, and a to-do list as long as the endless Sahara desert.

Youth ministry was my life.

Nine years later, the crayon drawings belong to my three year old son, a shared office necessitated the abandonment of the couch, the songs are fewer, the piles are bigger, and the Sahara desert looks like a breeze compared to my to-do list.

Something has happened.

I got married. I had a child. I moved away from my roomy office and seeking teenagers. I began sharing a ministry job with my husband in a new church, in a new town, with new teenagers. I became a mommy again. Then, I turned around.

The hours I poured into ministry as a twenty-two year old are now spent somewhere else. You know, the typical young mother stuff -- endless housework, endless food prep, endless dishes, endless cleaning, small children with big needs . . . the usual.

The glitch is . . . family and youth ministry is also an endless occupation; a bottomless jug requiring tireless energy, bounteous time, and a willing and hopeful spirit.

And I'm at a loss for the answer to the question I can't quite ask.

Something has happened.

Motherhood.

Can ministry survive?