I wear yoga pants. I have never attempted yoga. (Honesty here: I don't think I was made for yoga. But the yoga pant, yes ma mm! All over that one, folks.) Ironic.
I wear a triathlon bathing suit top. I have never attempted a tri and nor will I ever...probably, never (?). However I did run through the shallow part of the pool like Baywatch today. (In my mind...it was more like a water buffalo but my friend got a holler out of it so we're all good.) My top- it supports the girls. I appreciate that special hug every time I wear it. It's cozy like a good friendship. (I bought another on clearance last week...same one, different color. This might be a sign of either good workmanship or I'm getting old. Nope... not old, just an excellent product. That settles it!) Ironic.
The most important part of my day was perhaps not the teaching I did, as important as I think education is, or that I crammed in homeschool, two playdates (museum and swimming, with lots of "races" as in do it faster wear yourself out girlies. I am trying several efforts and experiments to get rid of the "Whack a Mole" game I've been doing at bedtime with my girlies. Not cute. Go back to bed. I love you mean it but you really need to go back into your bed or here goes your dessert for tomorrow kinda nights. Whack! Whew. It's Shark Week, yo. Let mama have some fun! Now go to bed. Love you mean it. Whack! PS: Sadness and heart crusher: Megalodon from Shark Week a few nights ago was fake. I feel betrayed. Moving on...)
Nope the most important part was maybe a three minute conversation in the car, running late to the museum might I add, with my little girl about heaven. It was the "I'm sorry" from my harsh tone of voice when I was irritated or hurrying them along like cattle.
It was explaining to my littles that heaven is for real. There is a God, and no my child, you may not take the rocket on display at the museum to go see him. As delightful as that would be, you only get to heaven by dying. (Gasp...did I just say that? Ugh. Death. And then my 7 year old peanut gallery child offers that you can almost die and see him and come back and write a book. Yes, perhaps that has happened. And don't think about doing that anytime soon because I might cry typing this as I almost did in the car. No sirree we are not going there.)
We teach our kids God is good. We pray before meals that he does in fact give us everything we need, and then some. (Food is not actually provided by Target. Really by farmers and perhaps by machines if you're eating Cheetos. But real money from real jobs we earn to buy the food that other hands have prepared because we all sit at God's feet with open mouths regardless of if we praise him or not.)
We teach that he heals. We teach that he is the only thing we need. And sometimes I ask him, with my little finite human brain, "Lord, you mean for me to learn that from them too, right?"
The same Holy Spirit that is at work in me is at work in them, too. Children are special. Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me." We are told to have faith like a child.
And I'm reminded of a story a friend told me recently about a master violinist named Joshua Bell who recently played in Washington. He has one of the most expensive violins made- 3.5 million dollars. Well, he agreed to participate in an experiment where he played one of the most intricate pieces for 45 minutes in a busy subway, in regular clothes, where thousands of people traveled through. Master musician. Beautiful chords only he could perform so well. Six people stopped to listen. No applause or recognition. Some hurriedly threw in some money and walked on. Five of them who stopped were children, of whom their parents were dragging them along to hurry up. (Like cattle...I can relate sadly.)
The other was a man and when asked why he stopped, he looked around in disbelief and said, "I stopped because I paid $100 to see him perform last night!" He was shocked that no one cared while he searched for something to get his autograph.
And here I am. I stay home with my kids. I homeschool them. I am around them most of my day. And I forget. All the time.
And I'm here, but I am missing out.
He is in the small moments. He is in the conversations. He is the rhythm in our lives. Our heartbeat. From the cellular level to swinging the planets around. He is at work at all times. He wants us to
s l o w d o w n. Take a breather. Squat to eye level. Look them square in the eyes and say,
"You are important. This other stuff, well, you won't remember it. You are small. This moment is small. But these small moments add up to something significant. You are God's handiwork. You are my significant."
It's not meeting deadlines, doing my agenda. (I really need to shower as we speak from the Baywatch water buffaloing nonsense at the pool today.) It's not even the "good stuff". As in I'm a good mom, sure, cause I do all this c-r-a-p (spelled in case your kids are around...) but none of it matters in the end, unless I'm taking a breather and loving. Reflecting on his glory. Praising him, sharing his love and slowing down to see his beauty. His creation. Past some one's rough, hard coating and into their sadness, uncertainty, pain, connecting heart level, as we are made to connect. Rejoicing with others as small as our children and over something as "insignificant" as an ant carrying it's food for the day, or that the color of the sunset looks like cotton candy.
Beauty. Creation. Living.
Re framing our lives through his lens.
And I need this blog entry more than anyone. So I write to remember, remind myself of beauty moments, and truly live.
Love to you all,
Carla
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