Overflow

Most girls are ready for a ring long before their boyfriends are. I wasn't. I remember long conversations my now-husband and I had while I was still in school about what it was I was waiting for before I was willing to take that next step. One of the things was God - specifically, His vocational call on my life.

I knew my husband wanted to do full-time college ministry. And I was beginning to love that idea too. But I wanted, and needed, God to call me specifically to ministry rather than follow the man I loved into it. It turns out He did, and it turns out that that has been a call and a promise that I have fallen back upon, or in some cases, been dashed upon many times over.

Right now it's more of a dashing upon. You see, I LOVE being a stay-at-home mom. Don't tell anyone, but I have even begun to love housework. I love being with my 3-year-old and 8-month-old from sunup to sundown - yes, even when they take every ounce of energy from my exhausted body. I love having my little-girl buddy with me every step I take, "helping" with every task. I love that my little man thinks that the best place to be is in my arms, right in the middle of what I'm doing. I love when my sweet girl asks for a song before bed, just about when I think I can finally put my feet up for the evening. I love that my little guy thinks that every second is an eternity when he's hungry and I'm trying to put three different versions of dinner on the table.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture.

Well, in less than 24 hours from right now, I have to go back to work. (By work, I mean 5-10 hours/week work. My real work is still at home.) The college students move in to the dorms, and our semester begins - with a vengeance.

About two weeks ago, if you would have asked me if I was ready for the summer to be over and the semester to begin, I would have replied with some very emphatic version of NO. In fact, I was scared of it.

You see, I had been LOVING our summer. Daddy was able to work from home more and have a slightly more relaxed work schedule, and I really didn't have much work stuff to do at all. I got to catch up on house stuff, play more with my kids, take a vacation or two, and just relax more in general. (Okay, we all know that the reality version of this would still seem like boot camp to the pre-kids versions of ourselves.) But it was lovely. The idea of having to start a new semester and enter into the busiest season of ministry for us, spending time on campus and figuring out how to make that work while still nursing my son, knowing my husband would need (and want) to spend long hours away from home because this is what he loves and what God has called him to do - it was really the last thing I wanted. I wasn't ready to give up my time and my husband to the work God has given us.

But God reminded me that, indeed, this is my calling too, right alongside my calling to be a mommy and wife.

So I did what any normal wife would do: I sent my husband off to pray about it. Because that was way easier than me praying about it myself. And in typical God fashion, He showed the abundant grace of responding to me in my evasion. He met me right where I was.

My husband came home from His time with the Lord with a verse that he thought was for him. Fortunately, it was just as much for me too.

"Now he who supplies seed for the sower and bread for food will also supply and increase your store of seed and will enlarge the harvest of your righteousness. You will be enriched in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God." 2 Corinthians 9.10-11.

This verse is great because it has all those make-you-feel-good phrases. God will supply. God will increase. He will enlarge the harvest. We will be enriched in every way. Butterflies and roses all around. But my husband pointed out something that did more than made me feel good - it gave me peace.

To those of us who seek to sow into the hearts and lives of others, God supplies that seed. He daily gives us what we need to live so that we can engage in His kingdom work. When we obediently and faithfully do the day-to-day work of loving people, He will bring forth the harvest. But this verse also says that He will increase your store of seed. This is what I had been afraid of. Daily pouring out my heart in relationship; daily giving away my time with my kids so that I could spend it with students; daily giving away my husband to this ministry. I was clinging so tightly to my family, my husband, my time because I was so afraid of giving too much of it away. But this verse says that God will not only supply my needs, but he will also increase the store. He will increase what's left over. I will never run out. I can give and give and give, and there will still be more left. More husband.  More precious moments with my children. More vibrant life. What a generous God we serve. Abundant grace.

But in this promise also came a requirement - a scary one. "You will be enriched in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion." God gives us this abundance SO THAT we can continue to give. I must continue to give away my husband - his help at home, evenings with him after the kids go to bed, lazy Saturdays in our pjs - and simply trust that there will be more left over, that there will be enough for me.

But over and over and over again, God has shown His goodness. He has been more than faithful to provide for my every need and well beyond. He is a God who pours out and never empties. He did it once on the cross, and He's done it every day in my life. I will obey. I will pour out the things most important to me, and trust and wait and watch Him fill.

Overflow.

Filling Bathtubs for Alligators

I'm not [at all] a super-techy person. I have, consistently, drug my feet to join facebook, text, pin on pinterest, read books on a kindle, and now, finally, step into the terribly intimidating world of apps. But, I will admit, it sure is fun. I quickly discovered the game, Where's My Water, and was instantly hooked. (As in, due to my 3-year-old's learned fascination with the game, Swampy now lives at the end of every plumbing fixture in our house.) This is a game where you direct water through a game of obstacles in order to fill up a bathtub of water for Swampy-the-very-cute-alligator. It was both fun and, at times, challenging, and wonderfully refreshing compared to the world of dirty diapers and hungry tummies that I live in. I was hooked.

Then, one day, as I looked up from completing a level, it hit me. My husband and kids were all outside. Playing. Laughing. Doing life together. And here I was, sitting on the couch, alone, filling bathtubs for alligators. While I completely, 100% believe that mommies need alone time REGULARLY, this was not it. Instead, I had simply chosen not to participate in this God-given moment to live life to the full. I had chosen not to receive one of those precious few gift-moments that would later be a treasured and longed-for-again memory.

And not only that, but God has given me a mission. Right now, it's mostly to my family, and right now, it mostly looks like cleaning diapers and pureeing baby food and washing little shirts and pants. But it is sacred. And I am the one He chose for it. I am the mommy He chose for these two beautiful and precious children. I am the woman He chose for this man. And one day God will ask me what I did with the gift of the time that He gave me. I really hope I have more to say than: Well, I filled a few bathtubs for alligators.

When You Lie Down and When You Rise

In our family, we normally tell our eldest no to her fun and silly songs on Sunday mornings driving to church. The familiar refrain of "Why?" launched Husband and I into a discussion on teaching our children spiritual truths. How early is too early? How much is too much? If they won't understand it, should we even try to teach it yet?

My gut answer was: Yes. Now. All of it.

I kept thinking back to what I know of the Israelites and how they taught their children.

"Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord our God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates." Deuteronomy 6.4-9

My understanding of the Israelites, limited though it is, is that they were always telling. Telling stories of God and what He did and who He is and who we are in Him and how that means we should live.

I think their children probably had the same intellectual capabilities that my children do. Their children probably didn't understand the things they told them. But they still learned the stories, and the reasons, and the guidelines for life. And then they grew up.And all the things they already knew in their heads, they began to understand in their hearts as well.

Yes. That's what I want for my kids.

So Husband turned around in his seat and did his best to explain to a 3-year-old how we are created by God and need to fear God and sometimes that means not listening to children's songs on the way to church because of respect and preparing our hearts....

And then the world shifted for me. She believed. The things her daddy told her, she simply believed. No objections or arguments or need for it to even make sense. This is what it means to have the faith of a child.

And although Daddy was doing his admirable best, it was coming out jagged and unpolished. He was trying to explain God ideas in the words of a child. He was forced to take God out of the adult box we had put him in and simply tell about Him. Learn about Him.

What a great teacher our daughter had become! What a great idea God had: Us, telling our kids God things. Us, learning even more than them.

"Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise."

Toilet Days

Yesterday was a "toilet day."

For-Now-Mommy's-Boy was sick, on the tail end of Grown-Up-Preschool-Girl being sick, and no one had slept the night before. When he wasn't asleep he was fussy, and when he wasn't awake he wasn't sleeping. She was overtired and bored and always hungry, and I was stretched thin. Brittle.

My knight-husband was working all day and traveling that night, and I was own my own. Lunch, dinner, toys, dishes, laundry, crying, rocking, crying, "Mommy, do you want to play with me?" I didn't.

I got frustrated when she wanted to help. I had zero compassion when he cried, sick. I was too busy to stop and read a book with her. I resented having to hold him, yet again. I had no patience, no grace.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I faintly heard the whisper: Can you find the joy in this? I couldn't. I didn't. All I could see was the toilet. All I could hear were the questions, the crying, the constant demanding of my attention, my energy. I had been drained, emptied, and I did not seek that filling-up-overflowing joy.

I'm on a quest to live discovering joy in the little things, the hard things - in cleaning toilets. But some days, I just don't find it. When faced with the question, I simply choose not to.

Maybe today I'll try again.

Cleaning Toilets

I've used cleaning toilets as an example of how hard finding joy can be sometimes, but why? Why 'cleaning toilets' specifically? Couldn't I have come up with something a little less...dirty? I guess I should explain.

I grew up not being very good at doing chores. There were times in my childhood that you couldn't see the floor of my bedroom for all the clothes piled up there - and there was a lot of floor not to see. Or maybe I should more accurately say that there were times that you could see the floor, however few and far between. But despite evidence to the contrary, that was not even my least favorite chore to perform. The two chores that I hated more than any others were doing laundry (my college roommate can regale you with stories to support this claim) and, you guessed it, cleaning the bathroom.

Cleaning the toilet bowl itself isn't really my problem. In fact, that can be slightly rewarding. Growing up, we had well water and a water softener (don't know which one caused this, so I just included both), so there would be a slight amount of residue build-up where the water sat in the bowl (or a lot if I kept putting off cleaning it). So to clean it I got to simply squirt some really cool clingy gel stuff in there, do nothing for about 15 minutes (definitely a feature), use a brush specially designed to keep the dirt at arm's length, and then admire my newly white toilet bowl for the next couple of days. Now, I even get to stick a gel disc to the inside of the toilet so that every time I flush, it smells newly cleaned all over again! Definitely not the part of cleaning toilets that I would have trouble finding joy in. It's the rest of the toilet that I loathe.

First, annoyingly, dust seems to really like toilets. That, and dog hair, and people hair, and any other type of particles that might have even considered coming into my house, intentionally or not. So I can't even clean the toilet for all the times I'm having to rinse the gunk off my sponge. And that's just the top parts of the toilet. Once you get to the bottom, you have to wade through drifts of the stuff. Plus you have that really sticky residue around the bolts attaching your toilet to the floor. How is it that when you try to clean it off it won't come off, but when you're trying to clean everything else off it won't stay off your sponge? And then, the worst part of all, you have that little area between your toilet seat and the tank. The epitome of gross. How can such a little space collect so much yuck? (Hmmm, sounds familiar...my heart?) I get the heebie-jeebies every time I clean there. Especially in our downstairs bathroom when I consider how many different DNAs are represented, a number directly proportionate the the number of guests who have peed in my house. Yuck. Nothing against our guests, especially since my nightmarish imagination sometimes gets the better of me right about now. But I am definitely committed to teaching my son how to sit and pee. Or better yet, just never have to pee in other people's houses at all. Yes, that sounds better.

So, now that I have enlightened you on the extent of my hatred for cleaning toilets...joy? Really?

No, not really. I have not truly discovered the joy of cleaning toilets. Hence, the blog. The blog is about my efforts at finding joy in those things that seem to bring none. And boy is it breath-taking when I do.

This is the beginning of what I've learned from cleaning toilets: I have learned how to serve my family - my husband, who is better at keeping house than I am but would never say it; my daughter, who still miraculously thinks I hung the moon and imitates most of what I do; my son, whose face lights up brighter than a candle in a dark room when I but look at him. I have discovered joy in that. If cleaning a toilet - gunk, residue, urine and all - blesses my family, it is pure joy. Learning to serve can be deathly painful at times - as I learn to sacrifice my craving for a moment to myself, my excuse of doing another chore (that is easier or more enjoyable), my laziness, my lack of self-control, my desire to be in the company of others rather than alone in a bathroom - but learning to love others above myself, learning to serve my husband as a way of honoring him, learning to take this gift of being forged and reshaped by the One who loves me more than I can comprehend...yes, joy. When I have the eyes to see, it is pure joy.

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, when you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." James 1.2-3

"Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him." Psalm 34.8

Lord, help me to see. And yes, maybe even to taste too.

What's With the Name?

There is no joy in cleaning toilets. Absolutely. none. They are GROSS when you finally get around to cleaning them, and they are gross again the first time someone uses them. Absolutely gross. Like, we-use-flimsy-paper-seat-covers-so-our-dirty-bottoms-don't-even-touch-them gross. So what in the world does cleaning them have to do with joy?

When I had my first child, I was far from prepared to become a mother. I hadn't planned the timing of our daughter, and, at times, I felt that God had stolen from me a life of purpose in which I could do something that made a difference. I mean, I was gifted and called. I could do a lot more than just changing diapers and trying [desperately] to get this little bundle to sleep...definitely a lot more than something as mundane and pointless as, say, cleaning toilets.

But God, my oh so Faithful and Patient Redeemer, had a much bigger plan in mind than a fruitful season of ministry.

First, there was grace.
Overwhelming, pick-me-up-off-my-face, breath-again-fresh-air grace.
And then, when I least expected it...

Joy.
Deep, abundant, soul-quenching joy.

Slowly [painfully], but surely, He taught me how to find joy in the littlest things: endlessly rocking a crying baby, cleaning poop off a baby's bottom...and her clothes...and the floor, doing yet another load of laundry. The joy of cleaning toilets. And, when I'm patient and quiet enough to find it, it is oh, so sweet.

Now I'm a mommy of two, and I would not trade staying home with my babies for ANY job in the world. I love it. And while I have in no way even come close to unlocking the key to discovering joy in all these little things, I am learning, and I'd love you to join me on this journey.