The bald one forgot his age again, insisting that he was barely five – even though he’s nearly half way through six.
The oldest brother wants everything perfect and keeps losing his glasses.
The sister is worried for the election and significant things like human injustice, but she only ever wants to talk about it late at night.
The baby who isn’t a baby anymore only wants to wrestle and get in trouble.
And somehow we’re out of spoons again.
The days come and go with the monumental tucked in-between little fights and insignificant things that seem huge in the moment. Homework to be done, medicines to be taken, clean up the basement… again…
How do we find significance in our mess and busy?
It was four years ago and a Good Friday. The house was cleaned, the children were cleaned, and dinner was almost prepared.
Those were the days in the condo and I feared having people over to the house because we had no storage and what you saw was what you got – everything was out on the surface. And with children ranging in ages from 5 years to 8 months, there always seemed to be stuff on every surface, half of it being decidedly gross. (those were in the days when Aid and Chase licked everything)
I was doubly afraid because my third-born was a wild card and didn’t fear the parental glare over bad behavior the way the others did. He was known for smiling, waving, and/or thumbing his nose in the general direction of manners and sanity.
And then Bob called and said he was running late and wouldn’t be home for dinner.
Great, just great.
I was making a desperate stab at hospitality and someone I didn’t know all that well was coming to dinner. Then we were going to have to try and make it out the door for the Tenebrae service – all the littles with only me to direct them. I was to be the herder of those with more energy than sense, those who were easily distracted by anything shiny. I could feel myself sweating.
And on top of that, what would this guest and I talk about? Having a conversation at dinner was an attempt at best and the chance of it being intelligible was severely lowered with only one parent at the table. I could just imagine the ensuing chaos. Ugh… People will post warnings about our family and our house. I’m just sure of it.
Then came the knock on the door and Tracey stepped into our lives.
She was already dressed up for the church service and I feared what would become of her beautiful light-colored outfit in my home. I could tell she was tentative and I was sure she probably thought we were crazy as I rushed around putting dinner on the table and the kids tried to be entertaining by putting together a series of banned activities for her amusement. “Miss Tracey! Watch me jump off this table!”, “Miss Tracey! Watch me stand on the chair!”
And then, as Tracey and I stood in the kitchen and made those first attempts at conversation between two people who don’t know each other yet, laying on a blanket near my feet; baby Karsten decided he would roll over.
And that’s the moment everything changed. Suddenly, even though we didn’t know each other and the dinner was late and the kids were crazy, we were doing life together.
And then, as we sat down to our adventurous dinner, Chase leaned on Tracey’s shoulder and told her “I love you. I miss you.” And he repeated it throughout dinner, often leaning over to put his head on her shoulder. In those minutes, she became “his Miss Tracey” and to this day, both Tracey and I remember that time as one of blessing and also as one of his last more normal weekends before strange symptoms would indicate a brain tumor.
There is much to be said for the joy of shared experience in the knitting together of lives. I didn’t know Tracey before that day, but she was with me the first time my baby rolled over and one of the last times before Chase’s tumor started presenting itself. It’s taken a long time, but I’m slowly learning that these life-knitting connections are one of the most precious parts of opening my home or my life. What I have is yours (even the broken and battered stories) because all that I have is a gracious gift from God. I often hesitate and want to shrink from being around others because I want things perfect and neat before I invite someone in, and my life is rarely that way. So often, I seek to impress rather than to connect. But as I go through it all, I’m gently taught and re-taught that life and the living of it is a great gift and that I am most blessed in authenticity.
Never underestimate His beautiful plans for your broken life as you share it…
Moment by moment.
“What do you have that God has not given you?” 1 Corinthians 4:7a
(In addition to being a dear part of our family, Tracey is a gifted artist and photographer and has blessed our family with some of its most beautiful memories.)
