Jameson is napping. William is sleeping in my arms. Ryan is at work. And I am sitting in quiet for the first time since December 1st.
Back to life as usual.
January is gray here. The lamps have been turned on since we woke up this morning, and will stay on until we go back to bed. The chill that creeps in is damp. This is our winter. (I like the clean snow. I like the sunshine that sparkles and dances and turns the world shades of pink. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it’s awfully nice to not trudge through parking lots of sandy salty yuckiness with groceries and babies and all that fun stuff.)
I feel a bit updated. I also feel the satisfaction of having beat the system, having procured my update at an outlet ($$ saved), on clearance (muchos $$ saved!). I’m not exactly a fashion plate these days, but once in awhile, it’s nice to feel in touch. I’m still in my 20s, you know. I may as well live it up.
There is light at the end of the tunnel. I think that maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to make some order out of this household chaos. My trouble is that once I get an idea of reorganizing or rearranging or somehow making my home better, I don’t want to do it; I want it done. And I chafe and inwardly fume at anyone and everyone who gets in my way. (This is bad, wrong, and sin, by the way.)
I don’t know if it’s new gifts, coming home after a month away, or a combo, but I’m feeling ready to purge. (Again. I’ve been purging since long before William was born!) Just feeling the weight and chaos of too. much. stuff. I find this is a bit difficult in this season of life. I want to say, “one toy in, one toy out.” I want to say, “If we don’t have room for it, it goes.” But on the other hand, we’re a young family trying to build a collection of books, toys, etc. And we’re in a small house that will inevitably one day be left for a larger one. How do you all handle these things?
Jameson sat at the table, coloring, and William was in his seat, quietly taking in the world around him, and I was at the kitchen sink, scrubbing onesies that had suffered damage during a blow-out. And I began singing, “I want to serve the purpose of God in my generation…” Yes. That’s what I want to do. Scrub, scrub. “Jameson, you are not allowed to break crayons. William, shhh, it’s okay, I’m almost done.” Scrub, scrub. Not glamorous, for sure. Hum drum, you might say. But Lord, if this is Your purpose for my life, I want to do it. I just want to serve You.
And, “I want to build with silver and gold…” I got to that part, and was challenged. This might be a pretty random application of that verse, but forgive me: I don’t want to scrub and shush and correct with fuming in my heart. I’m pretty sure such service will quickly be consumed like hay and stubble. I want to serve His purposes with a heart that says, “I delight to do Your will!” That shouldn’t be so hard. Really. He’s not [currently] asking me to do anything, you know, awful. In fact, most days, His tasks for me are pretty wonderful (love and respect a really good guy, love and nurture two adorable babes, and do my best to steward this house.)
Anyway, I’m glad to be reminded that today, my life can be lived not in vain. Because serving Him, doing His will, makes this fleeting life meaningful.
And I’m glad to be reminded that today, I can love Him as I serve Him. (Aren’t love and obedience inextricably connected?) Because you know what? I just want to love the Lord.