Slow and Steady Wins the Race

 It was a Monday morning (Mondays. I know.) and I was feeling particularly unsteady, dashing around trying to catch up on things that had fallen behind.  Megan had wet her bed. There were party trays to put away two weeks after the party.  Mount laundry towered high yet again, despite my efforts to keep up.  Several reminders later, Adam continued forgetting his manners at the breakfast table.  While schooling the kids (late start, no less) Luke wrote backwards Ps, an old habit popping in like an unwelcome guest.  Yes, it was just one of those days.  So, I did what I often do in response to those days; I tried to fix it. In a tornado of manic energy, swirling round and round I tried to the fix the Ps, fix the manners, fix the bedding, the party platters, mount laundry...fix, fix, fix. Trying to make all clean and tidy, as if long-term projects could be fixed in mere minutes, and Rome could be built in a day.  But a tornado leaves just one thing in its wake--utter destruction.  I felt it in my heart and worse yet, could see it reflected in the eyes of the kids: I had failed.  Instead of restoring peace and order, my whirlwind of "fixing" had left me completely spent and barren...like a tree bearing no fruit.

Sitting down, wallowing in my own defeat,  I then remembered the prayer I had read earlier that morning:

Divine Teacher, I can be rather picky sometimes, setting up the circumstances and paramenters within which I think you must work.  I can be so self-obsessed, seeing myself as central to all, ignoring what you are doing, slowly and patiently, in this world of human hearts and lives.  The fruits of your spirit are: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.  Today I will live these in gratitude.  Help me be patient with myself and with others when we seem to bear no fruit.  I trust that you are with us and know how to bring about growth in each one.  Amen.  --Ordinary Grace

This.  This is what I had been doing all morning--ignoring God, relying on myself to try and DoItAllRightThisMoment, sprinting like a flailing fool toward the proverbial finish line. Like the classic story The Tortoise and the Hare, I had read to the kids a few weeks back.  The tale that leaves me feeling like a big fat hypocrite, knowing full well that I'm that hare.  But God cares nothing for the fruitless business of hustle and bustle, of hurry and worry and lack of endurance. In His infinite wisdom, He moves slowly, patiently, steadily plodding along in our hearts, working in mysterious ways.  Ever-present, never failing, God is the tortoise walking inside each of us.
 

And when I feel like that barren tree, picked clean with leaves all shriveled brown on the ground, I know that He is there, working within me, teaching in slow and steady whispers.

 Slow and steady wins the race.

Though I cannot see the finish line, nor when and how the race will end, I can rest in the knowledge that He is here, beating out a path of growth within.  Revealing in bits and pieces His wisdom, alleviating the need to sprint and scurry and spin.  We can rest in Him.  And on the days I feel all wrong, like a backwards P in child's scrawl,  I know that slowly, steadily, He is growing me.  Though the growth is often too slow to see, that Wise Tortoise goes right on walking, performing micro-miracles, day by day, within each of us. It's all just a matter of trust, my word for 2013.


I trust that you are with us, and know how to bring about growth in each one. Amen.


So maybe there's hope for this harried hare, after all?  I continue to trust He will keep on plodding along in my heart, encouraging me to, one day, reach victory.

 I am confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

Phil. 1:6 




shared with:

Imperfect Prose

Full of Grace

Embracing grace isn't always an easy thing to do. Grace--that free gift. A heavenly touch from the Almighty. The very thing we long for in this world as our sustenance. So how then, could this be so difficult to let in? To be enshrouded in grace is as euphoric a feeling we can ever experience on Earth and yet, too often we walk away from it. We turn our backs and say "no thank you."

But why?

We turn away in fear. We fear the heavenly touch that fills us up, that renews. Fear divides us as we are made vulnerable, hearts susceptible to hurt. We wonder, "Can I really trust in God?" "What if He lets me down?" "What if I trust and fall flat on my face?" Fear separates us but still the Lord beckons. We only need to take a leap of faith to make our way over the wall of fear. But making our way requires trust. Falling into grace. I'm not talking about cautiously peeking from the ledge to admire the view from afar. I'm talking about DIVING...like those trust falls you do when you're a kid--arms across your chest, falling backwards, trusting someone will be there to catch you. That's living grace.

There was a time not too long ago when I didn't fully embrace a life of grace. I treated the Lord the way we often treat a security blanket; spending some cuddle time when needing a bit of warmth and comfort, the rest of the time leaving it heaped in the corner unused, collecting dust. This is not an active, thriving faith. This is the rejection of grace.


It took a tragedy for me to fully embrace grace. My full body trust-fall came three years ago on a Tuesday in May when my mother, schizophrenic and desperate traded life for a rope, depression's end for last breath. My sister's words still echo in my ear--the phone call that changed my life forever, words blunt from shock and despair, "She's dead. She killed herself. She's gone."



These are the defining moments in our lives; the times when we are forced to confront what we truly believe. Moments like these strip away all that is trivial. The inane humdrum worries of the everyday scatter like ashes in the breeze. What's left is our core, our soul...soft and vulnerable. Open. Open to let God in. This is the gift of grace. Right there, in the midst of unbearable pain and the reality that feels more nightmarish than genuine we are given a chance to grow. Transform. Become more like God. It's a tall order, this invitation to a life of grace. There's no obligation to sign up. Only the gentle whisper in the ear that compels us to sojourn for a fuller life. Who will take the leap?


My grace path took time. Months of anguished tears sobbed silently into wet pillows, nights of wondering whether joy was forever lost. Eventually the pain gave way to moments of peace. The return of laughter. And something else began to stir in me. A feeling of empathy and compassion. Almost by accident I found myself doing things like giving money to the man on the side of the road. The man with the cardboard sign reading, "Will work for food." The man with face streaked, clothes crusted with dirt, who took my hand in his and uttered, "God bless you." The man whose hardship and pain I can't even imagine, who stood with nothing and enabled my heart to meet God. I yearned for more. Giving my heart away filled me up with more joy than I had ever imagined. God's grace, rushing into the gaps and pot holes of my weary soul.




I decided then and there that I wanted my life to matter. Not for me, but for others. By a force much greater than me I longed to touch others, help ease their burdens and pain. Nothing on earth was more important to me than doing God's work. It's hard. Emptying out the cobwebs of superficiality and pettiness takes time. Making each day count requires renewed effort and dedication. A life of grace is a choice we make again and again each day. Our daily trust fall.

"God is not unjust; he will not forget your work and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them... show this same diligence to the very end, so that what you hope for may be fully realized."
(Heb. 6:10-11)

Open your heart to the amazing gift of grace. Leave the dust of the desert walk behind. Take the leap.

Grace on a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

The other day I was having a truly awful day. This day could've made Alexander's "terrible horrible, no good, very bad day" look like a slice of heaven. It was your everyday run-of-the-mill bad day in the life of a frazzled stay-at-home mom...you know, one of those days where the kids wake up too early, bickering and just. stay. that. way. One of those days with seemingly endless sibling squabbles, a list full of too many to-dos and fantasies of a hot bubbling bath of Calgon coming to mind every few minutes.
Well, this particular terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day also happened to be a church day. And so, with frazzled mind and tired, sweaty cranky children, we piled into our van and shuttled off to Mass. I wish I could say that once we arrived at church things miraculously pulled a 180 and fell into place, but...alas, they didn't. The boys had ants in their pants , Megan fussed on my lap, Luke had to use the bathroom, Adam kept dropping things causing a loud reverberating thump and making my face grow redder and redder by the minute as my blood pressure shot through the roof.

At one point during the Mass I happened to glance behind me and caught the eye of an elderly woman. Her face was sternly set, and, I, in my frazzled state assumed she was gawking at our sad display of poorly behaved and out-of-control children. This only made me feel all the more stressed and I could not wait for evening of kids-in-bed peace.


We muddled through the rest of Mass and as we were about to leave, there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned to greet the face of the same elderly woman whose eye had caught mine earlier on. She greeted me with a warm gentle smile and said, "I just wanted to tell you what a lovely little family you have here. I see your family every week and I'm always struck by how nice and well behaved your children are. I know managing little ones isn't easy and you certainly have your hands full, but you are doing such a wonderful job here." I dang near burst into tears right there! I felt completely taken aback and immediately grateful for this sweet little old woman who took the time to tell me exactly what I needed to hear at the precise moment I needed to hear it. An earth angel with heaven-sent timing.


And immediately I realized in a classic lightbulb moment that I was (once again!) being way too hard on myself. I was making all of the wrong assumptions about my children's behavior. I was expecting the impossible from tired kids that were trying their best. But the truth is that God doesn't care how many times the hymnal is dropped or about the volume of toddler whimpers. He only cares that we show up, we try our best and we seek Him. Sometimes we Moms put a lot of pressure on ourselves, don't we? We expect the impossible from our children at times when they are just not able to be at their best. I'm often reminded that we, too, are like cranky toddlers in the eyes of God on the hard days, and it's at those times that He only asks that we turn to Him.


I'm so grateful for the lesson in grace, and for sweet little old ladies with kind assuring words.

"Come to me all who are weary and find life burdensome, and I will refresh you."