I am sitting in the little space of this world called my home with a candle burning inches from my nose. Thank you Mistletoe with pure, natural plant extracts. Thank you for helping save my sanity this morning.
For the blackened pot of scalded rice is still over sharing her smells. She testifies to the fact that teen aged boys have the best of intentions when starting to cook but the distractions are plentiful. Oh so plentiful.
As a matter of fact, every pot in my kitchen has swanky little scalding marks. And melted handles. And broken tops. And whispered prayers over them lingering from a mama who wonders if she will survive this 5 kid thing sometimes.
Her forks have not survived.
That’s right. We officially have no real forks left. They’ve been dwindling for quite some time. Then this week I realized the last of the real forks have escaped the house of the crazy smells. Escaped. Vanished. Gone. Poof.
I don’t know where they all go.
And I’ve replaced them too many times to replace them again. So, much to the twisted expression of my green friends, we are using plastic. I know. Awful.
And just past the utensil drawer minus the forks is hanging a little bulletin board where I post invites. There’s still one from this past summer and a notice about the fall festival at one of my kid’s schools. The one we forgot to attend.
Then around the corner is a laundry room the size of a closet that stays a mess. A mess. And I have neither the vision nor the energy to change it.
Of course down the hall from there rests a plethora of shoes. Shoes that should be on shoe racks in closets but never quite make it. Sometimes I demand they return to their full and put up position and sometimes I sigh and just step over them. A battle for another day.
The mail collects in piles. The cut coupons go unused. The sour cream has grown mold. And here I sit with my nose parked above a candle on this day rich with resolution possibilities.
I could vow to get organized. Promise to put systems in place to prevent scalded pots, missing forks, misplaced shoes, unused coupons, piling mail, and soured sour cream.
But tomorrow, despite my systems, another pot will get scalded.
Because that is the way life is. Not everything can be systematically fixed.
And wrapped in the unpredictable, messy, and sometimes annoying realities of a home, beats the heart of woman presented with a courageous choice. To love mercy.
Like dewy mist gently falling to give grass relief from the pending hot summer day. A woman’s mercy can fall gently but protect fiercely.
The world will call foolish those that smile in the midst of scalded pots, thrown away forks, misplaced shoes, and soured sour cream. But my Jesus calls it good.
Micah 6:8, “He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”
By the way… The home of the missing forks, scalded pots, five kids, and a mommy and daddy trying to love mercy and hold on to their sanity can be seen on Oprah tomorrow. She’s re-airing the fascinating families show.
Happy New Year dear friends. May we all remember what is good.