Sacred Mundane: The Blog

Exhausted, I stare down into the sink. It’s clogged. Has been for several weeks. When it does slowly drain it leaves a dark grimy film, and no matter how many times I scour it, the grime returns each time it’s clogged.

(Which is daily.)

I stare at the water; it isn’t going anywhere. I look up into the mirror, my face red from exertion, hair soaked with sweat. I just got off the treadmill.

The absurdity of it strikes me: I’m exhausted from running nowhere.

In so many ways.

… {Read the rest here with the dear sisters at (in)courage; thank you.}

I wanted Thomas Nelson so badly.

I know: I’m sure I’m breaking all the rules of professionalism to actually write about the process of seeking publication. Oh well. I have never excelled at professionalism, but perhaps a bit of my journey can connect with a bit of yours.

Like I said: I wanted them. Why? Well … honest answer?

Because I’m small and they are big. 

Yup. They’re big. Real big. The biggest. And I’m small. Real small. The smallest. So what better way to feel big than to climb up into the biggest that there is?

One small problem: my smallness. 

In so many words that’s what they said: That they love my idea and project, but my “following” is not what they’d like it to be yet.

In other words: I’m small.

(I could have told them that!)

So naturally I was bummed, not so much because of them, but just realizing that this book may end up with some no-name publisher with really terrible cover art drawn by hand and all of 13 people will buy it, all of whom are family members, and I will have spent all this time and energy on … What? 

*Sigh*

Just. So. Small. 

See, please hear my heart. I don’t want to be famous. Probably none of us reading this blog want to be, I just want to do something worthwhile, I want to invest in something that’s worth the time, the effort. You do too, right?

And so sometimes it’s just discouraging how small we really are. When you try to make a difference, when you join a cause or pursue a dream, sometimes  your own smallness can just be … overwhelming.

But minutes after I heard back from Thomas Nelson, a good friend emailed these words:

“Saul kept on trying to put his armor on me but it did not work. Like David I cast it off and am just fine with the small in me too. and….mmmmm…Look who slew the giant…..”

Absolutely.

Of course, why hadn’t I seen it? Ironically, I was studying 1 Samuel 17 at that exact moment for an upcoming conference. Hadn’t even thought about how small David was.

Now please, I’m not trying to make myself out to be some heroic giant-slayer, but aren’t we all called to slay giants in this life? Aren’t we all called to something that looms so large in our vision? And so we try to put on Big Girl clothes, we buy a pair of giant shoes because we think that’s what we need to fill.

But we don’t have to fill any shoes other than our own. Even if they’re small.

See we might think we need something “big” to make up for our smallness.

And we’re right. We do.

We just haven’t thought big enough. We need something WAY bigger.

Saul’s armor was too big for David so he cast it off and went after the giant with nothing but himself…. and God. 

That’s big. Sometimes, perhaps, He loves to use small people so He gets lots of glory?

John Piper said this,

“There are saving works that God will only do through small churches and ordinary people, not through large churches and more sophisticated people.

The Lord said to Gideon, “The people with you are too many for me to give the Midianites into their hand, lest Israel boast over me, saying, ‘My own hand has saved me.’” (Judges 7:2)

Beware of missing your appointed fruit by envying bigger trees.”

Today I’m going to settle down into my smallness and savor His bigness. I don’t know what will happen, but we have no choice but to take ourselves and our God and keep moving forward to face whatever giant He’s put in our path.

Even if my fruit is a blueberry–and not a watermelon–I’ll choose to bear it well … and rest in being small.

{Thank you for letting me grow alongside you…and thanks for reading.}

So glad to have Caila with us again today. Her words are a treasure! Enjoy…

~

I don’t know why, but Sunday mornings are always difficult for our family.  Getting the five of us up, fed, clean, dressed and out the door requires creativity and management skills beyond anything I was ever taught in college.  Throw in all the paraphernalia that comes along with babies—diapers, wipes, bottles, formula, baby sling, blankets, etc.—and we look like a three ring circus.

Most Sundays we are a little late to church. Every Sunday I’m a lot frustrated.

—

Around seven, the alarm goes off (he’s a six-month-old roly-poly blonde) and I roll out of bed. Another Sunday and today it’s going to be different. Today I’ll shower first so I can get all the kids ready after they eat. We’ll get to church early because it’s the Spring Picnic and there will be a lot of guests to meet. And I can’t forget sunscreen…and hats…and chairs…and…

I’m tired already. Jump in the shower and pull on the new clothes I recently stitched by hand.  They feel good on because they actually fit, but I look closer and frown at my stomach. After three babies things just aren’t the same. I throw on a tight under-tank to hide the lines and call it good.

I pull a bag out from under the sink, thinking my new makeup will help. Ten minutes later I realize it’s too much and try to wipe some off. Try again. I turn the drier on my hair but my roots are showing, and dang it, why does it take so much work to be beautiful?

Now I’m in a bad mood. And why aren’t the kids eating breakfast?  I start firing off commands. Why aren’t your clothes on? Didn’t I tell you three times to find your shoes? No, you can’t take your blankie to church.

Brian’s shooting me looks and I can feel the frown on my face, the creases on my forehead. Try to tell myself,stop. Be kind. You’re being ridiculous.

Later in the car, with the air conditioning pointed full-blast on my flushed face, I close my eyes. Hear my words again in my head. So much work to be beautiful, and yet what does it matter if the inside is ugly?

There it is: the heart of the matter. All that time sewing, all the money spent on new makeup, all the hours spent exercising, what does it matter if the inside isn’t pretty?

So I turn and apologize, squeeze Brian’s hand. Smile. Tell them all they are the most wonderful people in the world.

My family’s nice enough to compliment my new skirt or my hair, but what they really need from me is my patience and my love. I don’t need new makeup to be a good mom, or nice hair to be a good wife. I don’t even need to lose weight to have a wonderful life! Obviously I don’t want to be hideous, but truly, I can be a better wife just being confident in who God made me to be.

I think it’s time to exchange my “body-image” for a godly image of myself. Who does God want me to be? How can I bless those he’s given me to care for and love?

The great thing is that this exchange can happen as I kneel in the morning to thank God for the day, or from my shower in the morning, or while I push the kids in the stroller. It doesn’t cost a lot of money, doesn’t require surgery and won’t run out or go bad in five to ten years.

Now that’s a realistic option for this busy momma.

I want the kind of beauty that will last a lifetime, an eternity. The kind of beauty that will shade my children as they grow and give my husband the courage to face what this world might bring.

It has nothing to do with my face, and everything to do with my heart.

Thank you for coming along on this journey with me. You are all, truly, beautiful women. I hope you find the confidence to embrace it and show it today!  

—

Caila Murphy is a mother to three, married to the love of her life, who loves to sew and write. She blends these two passions together at Caila-Made, where she shares tutorials and chronicles the ins and outs of this beautiful, crazy life.