The Sacredness of the Mundane

As many of you know, this morning at 3am we drug ourselves out of bed, and by 4am were on the road to the airport to catch our 6am flight to Austin, Texas.  That’s right, Texas!  Jeff is attending a ministry conference here called The Verge, so I get to tag along and have a little vacation with Heidi.  I’ve been so excited!!  It’s been awhile since Jeff and I have gone away without our little monkey, Dutch–and although I miss him like crazy, it is nice to have a little time with Heidi, who usually goes unnoticed because of her rather dominant brother.  She is taking to the attention like a fish to water and I’m afraid perhaps she’ll get too used to it and have a rude awakening when we get back home.

So I’ve been preparing for this trip and thinking a lot about being Away from Home, because we’ve been studying through the book of 1 Peter for our women’s Bible study, and Peter’s big idea is that we are all pilgrims and sojourners, away from our true Home in heaven with Christ, on a journey here on earth. It is our temporary home.  So this past Monday/Tuesday I taught 1 Peter 2:1-12, and the notes aren’t coherent enough to post here, but if you’d really like to listen you are welcome, I think you can find it here, if you scroll down to Bible study–you can also hear the first two messages as well if you’re so inclined.

But now that I’m actually here, in Texas, after a full day of flights, rental cars, getting lost, unfolding maps that take up the entire front seat, feeding Heidi little bits of french fries like a baby bird in the back seat… now I’m reminded all over again about some of the lessons of being Away from Home.

Everything’s harder. I should have reminded myself that the first day of vacation (which includes travel) is awful.  Especially with kids. It’s exciting, but getting up at 3am and not resting again until 7pm is just plain tiring.  And although Heidi didn’t cry much on the flights, she never slept a wink–ALL DAY LONG, and was only happy if she was bounced or fed or played with.  Which led to one tired mommy.  The fun part was that we’re making a surprise video for a certain church staff member, and we had a blast doing that. But by the time this evening rolled around, I put Heidi down to bed at 7 and she cried for 2 hours (overtired, new environment, not real dark), I was so tired I had to ask myself, “Wait, why am I doing this again?”  Then Jeff reminded me of my message the day before. I know I know I know…I hate it when things I teach come back to convict me.   All that to say, it’s all just harder when you’re away from home.  Routine things take so much longer and take so much more effort. Bedtime at home takes me 5 minutes…here it took 2 hours.

It’s easy to just get lost. I thought Jeff and I were both good with directions. We’ve driven Chicago, Boston, LA, Seattle…we’re faily competant–or at least I thought. For some reason Austin has us all mixed up.  The location of our hotel is like a black hole. If you miss something you’ll end up driving around and around unable to get to it–and once you’re here, it’s hard to figure out how to get out. It’s hard to explain, but it’s just a really odd location.  Today we drove for 2 hours to go get dinner, and ended up finally going to the Wendy’s across the street from our hotel.  It sounds pathetic, I know.  For some reason we just wound up all over the place.

You don’t have what you need. As much as you try to pack it all, it always seems like we don’t end up with what we need. Heidi’s sippy cup didn’t make it to the suitcase, and that silly girl didn’t seem to like it when I tried to help her drink ice water from a regular cup on the plane and it poured down the front of her shirt.  I packed practical shoes, but not practical for the DOWNPOUR that they are experiencing here in Austin. Who knew it would be pouring down rain and freezing cold (40s) and everyone would be wearing rainboots and using umbrellas?  Silly Portland people came unprepared.

People don’t really know you, and you don’t know them. So we’re doing this silly video, which meant I had to talk to a bunch of strangers and get them to go along with me in this silly thing. A lot of them were pretty skeptical. And rightly so…they don’t know me from Adam.  It’s hard to earn trust, and it’s hard to trust.  Similarly, for some reason I’d thought I’d feel totally comfortable walking around the streets of Austin on my own with Heidi, hiking and exploring the city, just like I would back home. Not so much. For some reason people look a little scarier. I went into a grocery store today and very quickly felt out of place… nothing dangerous, I was just in an interesting neighborhood and hadn’t realized it, and I was happy to find Jeff waiting for me outside.

You’re real tired but can’t sleep. I don’t think there is any spiritual parallel to this one. It’s just that I love my bed at home and Jeff is out late tonight and Heidi’s making little snorting noises while she sleeps…and I’m sitting here, exhausted but unable to sleep.  Hence the blog post.  Not much seriously significant, but tomorrow we’re exploring the University of Texas campus, and a sweet looking strip called Burnet street, lined with eclectic consignment and second-hand shops (Yes, Mom, Jeff will be with me–his conference starts at 3pm).  Goodnight, ya’ll.

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This was quite a week for me, as some of you know. I kind of–well, I did–have a nervous break down.  Not really, I guess but I basically got to a breaking point, where I realized I was doing too much and physically felt like I crumbled into a heap. It wasn’t pretty.   But as with most breaking points, it usually means that great growth is on the horizon, hatching out of an egg and finding new life. It’s exciting, it just doesn’t always feel that good at the time.

I knew the issue was brewing when I read through Exodus 18 in my quiet time, and was reminded again of Jethro’s (Moses’ father-in-law) advice to Moses when he came and visited.  Moses was sitting, from morning until evening, every single day, listening to the disputes of people and giving direction, wisdom–leading them.  Jethro says, “What you are doing is not good. You and the people with you will certainly wear yourselves out, for the thing is too heavy for you.  You are not able to do it alone.”

What you are doing is not good.

Hmm.  I didn’t quite understand at that point exactly what that meant, but later on in the week it became clearer. Not only is it not good for yourself, because you will get worn out, but it is not good for the people either, because the leadership, wisdom, and advice that they will receive from you will be less than stellar–it will be tired, irritated, annoyed advice and leadership rather than rested, well-thought-through advice and leadership.  Not only that, but perhaps (total speculation here), Moses’ father-in-law looked down with the eyes of a grandpa and a father and looked at his daughter Zipporah and at his little grandbabies and got a little protective, realizing that these Israelites were getting 90% of Moses’ time, rather than his family. Again, it says that nowhere in the Bible, but it’s interesting that it’s Moses’ wife’s father that steps in and says, “Enough is enough!  You’re doing too much. Get out of there and spend some time with your babies and wife!”

Perhaps it takes the perspective of a wise, aged father, with the heart of a grandpa, to point these things out to us.  Perhaps. (I’m winking at you, Dad.)

So while last week was rough, it was really good.  I did some evaluating and made some boundaries, and while I still feel like at moments I’m drowning, when I look up and keep my eyes fixed in Jesus, He keeps the wind and the waves at bay.

Then this weekend we continued studying through the book of Nehemiah. Joel taught chapter 3, the chapter full of names, about how Nehemiah assembled the team to rebuild the wall of Jerusalem, and how many many people it took to pick up those stones and assemble the various portions.   He made this hilarious point about how we each have our own stones to pick up, carry, and stack on the wall, and we each need to shoulder our own stones.  He said sometimes people come up to him with an idea for ministry (hinting that he should do it), and he gets this funny smile and wags his finger playfully and says, “Are you trying to give me your stones?  It sure feels like you’re trying to give me your stones… I think those are your stones!”

So true!  Some of us have this tendency, as we’re picking up our own stones, to look around and see all the heaps of stones around us and feel so overwhelmed that we just start picking up everybody else’s stones too!  Heck, there are stones to pick up I might as well pick them up!  And so I had this vision of myself, with Dutch hanging on my back, Heidi in a front pack crying, holding my husband’s sack lunch in one hand, my Bible teaching notes in the other, my laptop tucked between my knees, a laundry basket balanced on my head, picking up toys off the ground with my toes, and then trying to figure out how in the world I was going to pick up all these stinkin’ stones that are laying around!  Joel’s message was a refreshing tap on the shoulder: “Hey, guess what? Those aren’t your stones.”

So as with any adjustment period, it takes a while to figure out boundaries, make adjustments, figure out what’s God and what’s selfish.  I’m sorting through my stones and asking God exactly which ones He’d like me to stack on the wall, and which ones He wants me to leave on the ground, because they’re someone else’s stones to stack.

And at this moment one of my stones is sticking his feet in my face and giggling, trying to get my attention. (No, it’s not Jeff).  Naptime is over…it’s time to stack some stones.

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Sometimes the high points of life with toddlers can be few and far between, but this was a kiss from God for my little boy and me.

Last week, when we’d visited OMSI with a friend, we had run into another girl who was the friend of my friend.  We introduced ourselves and I met her little boy Brock, 6 months older than Heidi, and hit it off and had a great time just talking.  Well last night, we got a horrified phone call from my friend, saying this girl had accidentally hit or run over her son with her car (every mom’s most horrible nightmare).  He was in critical condition at OHSU, and could we please pray like crazy for them. Of course Jeff and I did, as we drove home from our Community Group last night.

So last night as I tucked Dutch into bed, I said it was time to pray, and I started it out for him just like I always do, “Dada God, thank you for…” but he said, “No, let’s pray for Brock.”  My eyes widened, “Yes, Dutch. Let’s!”

“Dada God, help Brock get better.”  Of course my heart melted.

So today, we were thrilled to receive news that he has been stable, with a concussion and broken ribs, but on the road to full recovery. Hooray! I told Dutch the good news and he got this big smile and said, “Brock is all better!”  Of course he got embarrassed when I told him it was because he prayed to God for him, but what an encouragement to my little boy’s heart, and to mine.

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*Please continue to pray for mom Charmin & baby Brock as he continues to recover.

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It’s really been an amazing week.  Anyone who’s checked this blog or seen my facebook status knows that between the success of potty-training, really getting in the domestic swing of things (who knew being a 50s housewife was so awesome?!), and a couple other non-bloggable things, this week just seemed to go from blessing to blessing.

What’s challenged me is realizing what a fragile thing my happiness can be.  A tiny shift of circumstances can seem to crumble what I thought was a sure foundation of joy, hope, faith.  Or, put another way, a tiny nudge of another person can send me tumbling off my tight-rope of happiness, when I had thought I was firmly planted on the ground of inner peace.  My grandfather, Howard Zoet, was a prize-fighting boxer and a poet. He was also an amazing man of God, the kindest man I’d ever known (until I met Jeff, who truly is the kindest man I’ve ever met), and a lover of words. He is the one who gave me my passion for writing.  In fact, it was at my grandma’s funeral, at the age of 11, standing before the kind eyes of my grandpa, that I read my first poem out loud–a tribute to her life.  I did it for him. Now, right above my kitchen sink I still have a photo of him, holding me as an infant–asleep in his arms.  He died when I was 13.

But when I was just a toddler, he published a book of poetry. In the back he included a section where he wrote a silly little poem for each of his grandchildren–just five of us.  I was the youngest, and the only girl.  And the part I’ll always remember, from A Poem for Karina, is this stanza:

Kari, you are kind of funny. When you’re good, you’re oh so sunny!

But when you decide to cry, things sure change–oh me oh my!

Yes, I was 2 at the time, but I think if my grandpa were here today to write my poem almost 28 years later, it may read exactly the same way.  I still am amazed at how I can swing from high to low.  Why? We all know the answer–not keeping our eyes on Jesus, being too concerned with self, etc. But I love this example in Genesis, that I just read again the other day.  Joseph’s brothers, who had long ago acted our of jealousy and sold him into slavery, now had experienced the grace and deliverance of living in the land of Goshen, in Egypt, and receiving provision during the famine. They’d experience miraculous grace, forgiveness, provision. But as soon as their father, Israel, died, they panicked.  Chapter 50 tells us they feared Joseph would pay them back for all their evil, so they sent a message to him (too scared to go in person!), begging him to be kind to them, then they went in person and fell down before him, offering themselves as his servants, if Joseph would just promise to be kind to them.

And what I love is Joseph’s response, which is a comfort and a rebuke all at once:

“Do not fear, for am I in the place of God?” (50:19)

The comfort is, don’t worry–I’m not going to harm you. But the rebuke is–why have you put me in the place of God? Why have you set your hope on my mercy, rather than God’s? Why have you made me big and God small?  Or, perhaps applicable to us today, Why have you set your happiness on my approval, my provision, my decisions.

Their fear, anxiety, and turmoil was all simply because they had forgotten the place of God. They’d put Joseph there instead, and there’s only room for One. And amazingly, Joseph himself is the one to remind them that he belongs in no such place. No one is in the place of God–no boss, no spouse, no friend, no family member, and no circumstance.  What they had meant for evil, God meant for good.  Nothing can thwart the will of our God.

Of course as long as we live we’ll have those ups and downs, but my hope and prayer is to at least be a little more stable than I was when my grandfather penned those telling words.  I believe Joseph reveals the key to it all.  Who or what is in the place of my God?  There’s only room for One.

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