Mr. Fantastic left town on a ministry trip and I partook in my usual ritual of staying up too late and folding laundry.
Around here, when the cat is away, the mouse can’t sleep.
I folded pants and matched up socks while watching Call the Midwife on Netflix. I thought a lot about the pain of labor, the blessing of birth, and the miracle that the human life can sustain so much.
I looked around my house and saw so many signs of life.
Tired boys kicked off shoes and dropped bags as they stumbled in the house and to their beds, all sleepy after a day of playing hard.
A shoe forgotten in the hallway by a girl who was so busy running and skipping that she couldn’t be bothered with accurate shoe placement.
A stain from a community group whoopsie that involved a sweet child, a hard night, and a good dose of grace.
The forever-forgotten roll of toilet paper that sits perfectly on the counter because little hands have a hard time maneuvering the change-out.
The other shoe that was forgotten is somehow in an entirely different area of the house. One can only guess at how this all played out.
This is my children’s definition of a clean playroom. I know this because I asked them to clean it earlier, and they promised they would.
No one around here thinks toothbrushes are worthy of attention. Like a sword to fight off cavities, it is best to have them handy and accessible.
These scenes loom over me, blessings that I hope will etch themselves in my memory.
Life is born in the midst of pain and mess, and I feel the contractions coming only minutes apart tonight.
I gaze around at the swirl of life I have been allotted, and I feel tired and grateful, overwhelmed and content, terrified and hopeful, and countless other emotions that seem to fit together perfectly and yet oppose one another so well.
God uses this holy, ordinary life to prick my heart of stone and make it beat with His love, ready to see beyond this moment I live in.
I don’t live in a magazine, or a catalog, or even in a well-ordered house tour.
Like all people, I was born in a messy way, into a messy world, and I still live here, in the middle of a mess that I attempt to manage.
And it is right here in this mess that God expects me to thrive, to love, to sacrifice, to mend, to apologize, to forgive, to hope, to let go, to laugh, to break, to pray, to fast, to encourage, to dream, to heal, and to shine forth His greatness.
The signs of life can’t be hidden. If I can bear down with God a bit longer, and trust in faith for new life to emerge, it will all be worth it in the end.
Birthing is always worth every bit of pain and push. It is an honor and a blessing to do the bearing.
