Bathroom Monday

It's Monday.

          So I clean my bathroom.

I love a clean bathroom.

A clean bathroom is inviting

               welcoming

                              fresh

      and . . . . well . . . clean.


I can feel ok putting my baby girl on the floor when I have to.


I've never been great with chores until I finally started putting them on a schedule.  I'm good with schedules.  And check-lists.  And charts.  And anything that puts thoughts into neat and tidy packages.

I'm not good with scattered.  Though many times that's how I roll.

But I've finally reeled in my chores and they are scattered no longer.  And now I enjoy them.  And even look forward to them.   (On Thursdays I may look at my bathroom, give a sigh, and then comfort myself with the fact that it will be taken care of on Monday.)

Nice.

Do all humans thrive on order?  Or just some . . . ?

     Are there people out there that thrive on chaos?

 Though my desk is chaos . . . and my many piles of mail . . . and piles of piles piled inside bags piled on each other under my desk to be taken care of when I have time . . .  I don't thrive on that.  It actually sucks me dry.

I thrive on order . . . and a tidy little seven day schedule.


Maybe we were created that way . . . (you think?)

                        with some extra time just to rest.

Nice.

The Broken Crayon

It's bad news when your red crayon gets broken.

  By your brother.

    In the middle of a worship service.

      While your mom is up front with her guitar.

        Leading a singing response.

          In the middle of the prayers.

So what do you do?

Easy.

  You scream. "Mommy!  Mooooommmmy!  Ba-zer broke my crayon!"

    And you keep at it until snot is flowing down your face
                             and your eyes are red-rimmed and tragic
                                        and your volume is at an impressive scream-level.



And your mommy --

                   actually puts her guitar down and comes to give you a snug.

   right in the middle of leading a singing response during the prayers.



And isn't that what worship is for?

So we can scream and cry and bring our broken pieces to God . . . .

         So we can let the snot flow . . . . and the tragedy show in our red-rimmed eyes . . .

   So we can be embraced by the arms around us . . . holding us . . . loving us . . .
                      through our impossible moments.


Isn't that why we go?

      To be embraced when we need it.

          To do the embracing when others need it.

      To be reminded that God is the master of rebuilding the broken.


Crayons and all.

Storybook Market

Farmer's Market Saturday . . . was like stepping inside a beloved storybook.


The air -- crisp and cool,

         the colors -- dancing . . . laughing . . .

                    the smell of kettle corn curling around us

as we picked up some fresh farm eggs from Nicole's chickens, Basin City peaches for a future pie, delicate zucchini for some warm bread, and a trio of sweet knitted hats for the babes.

It was a page out of one of my favorite fall books: Let It Fall.

There we were: tasting, smelling, laughing . . . just like the sweet drawn family of five.

How could it get better?

But it did!  Running into friends . . . taking time to chat . . . to wrestle (Blazer, not me), to share mini donuts dusted with powdered sugar . . . and warmth.


The bounty is plentiful . . .

                     the grace is abundant.

       Let it fall.

Born to Live

It's *Fun Friday* and we're loving life.


I've been reading a fascinating book called Born to Run by Christopher McDougall.  It's all about people who love life and who love to run (and perhaps run because they love life . . . or love life because they run . . . ?)

I may start running barefoot because of this book.  But the jury's still out -- I still have 1/4 of the book to go.


To celebrate loving life today . . .

Blazer pulled out his red skinny jeans to wear to school -- complete with a red striped polo shirt, red striped socks (and even red underwear, I was informed.)

Dash is running around in his Spiderman costume and mask -- and looks quite dashing with all those pillowy muscles.

Ryan is helping justice to be served as Juror Number One in Superior Court.

Finley is a snuggle bug today (most likely because she's sporting a fever) . . . and I've been sitting and holding her and reading my book.

Brilliant Day!


At the close of yesterday, I was at Park #3 with my three little sweets -- sun was setting -- chill in the air -- and the breeze was blowing wisps of Finley's cinnamon-streusel hair straight up in the hair.  She was smiling and squinting into the breeze -- embraced in the moment of joy.

Born to run . . .

       Born to love . . .

             Born to live . . .

We are the Running, Loving, Living People of God.

(and that, of course, includes you.)