This Is the Day

My favorite child will always be the one who cries out for me in the night, then proceeds to cover me in little bits of supper. Because it is that child, in that moment, that needs me the most.

It was a beautiful day. Birds were singing a morning song, I could hear my husband zipping around the farm feeding cattle and a little girl singing a Frozen tune downstairs. I was stuck upstairs rocking a sick boy, with the blinds shut in a room dark.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I thought to myself. On a beautiful day when I had so much to do!

I had a long list clouding my mind. Sweep all floors, then mop. Vacuum the carpet. Slice the watermelon. Wash the rugs. Sweep grass clippings off the patio and sidewalk. Pick up 250 toy cows and horses from the living room - and every other room in the house. Clean the toilet. Put away all the laundry I had washed yesterday. Water the garden and flowers. Get things ready for our first Sunday back into the church. Check on a few loose ends regarding approaching work events: signing contracts, reserving chairs, updating an excel sheet with new plant progression numbers and writing a script for an upcoming agronomy video. 

Rocking a sick toddler - for who knows how long - was never on the list. I felt myself getting anxious about the mounting pressure to get it all done. 

But then I looked down at Cyrus and studied how long his eyelashes were. Where did he inherit those? And I noticed how his blonde hair still stands straight up after a warm bath. And I realized that I needed to trim his tiny fingernails – a job that puts us both on edge. Then I watched his tiny chest go up and down slowly; he was finally calming after a rough morning. His breathing got slower and his eyes began to close. I do not recall the last time I studied him and rocked this extremely active almost two-year-old to sleep. 

So, I rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

And as I did, I sang, 

This is the day, this is the day
That the Lord has made, that the Lord has made
I will rejoice, I will rejoice
And be glad in it, and be glad in it

This is the day that the Lord has made
I will rejoice and be glad in it
This is the day, this is the day
That the Lord has made

It’s incredible what a simple vacation Bible school song can do to a 35-year-old heart. 

Suddenly, my entire outlook on this morning changed significantly. I couldn’t think of one thing on my to-do list that mattered more than the moment I was in. What a small window of time I had, not to mop or sweep, but to cradle this growing child in my arms!

I wasn’t put on this earth to slice watermelon for our afternoon snack or pick up rodeo remnants from the living room floor, though doing both serves our family. 

I was put on this earth to care for, love and raise human beings so they grow into good people. How selfish of me to think otherwise. 

Sick kids on sunny days sure have a way of humbling mothers. 

Well and back to himself

Three Things Every Day

I’m out of town on business this week.

I crossed a few states lines, two time zones and a great big river before checking into a beautiful boutique hotel. In route, I saw the St. Louis arch from afar and sent a photo to Cody to update him on my travels. While doing so, I took a wrong exit and ended up on a side street in East St. Louis. At the lonely end of a scrap yard. Where they dump the bodies. I was white knuckled during my 12-minute detour of dread, while visions of Dateline danced in my head.

On the way west, I actually crossed two extra state lines than what my GPS mapped, having crossed the same state line twice. It became painfully clear at mile 313: I don’t often travel solo in My Life, AC (after Caroline).

I packed seven days’ worth of clothes; I’ll be here three days. I packed 20 lbs. of jewelry that won’t come out of the bag; I’ll wear the same turquoise set for the duration of the trip. Three belts. Four pairs of shoes. Nail polish. Snacks. A book. At this point I don’t know if I’m at the Wildwood Hotel or an Extended Stay America.

The business side of my trip has been very good, but SEO goals and analytics are not why you’re here today. I hope.

One of the speakers said something very simple during our Tuesday morning session. I found it worth writing down. As I sat to write this week (in my big, comfy king size bed that I didn’t have to make this morning), I thought it worth sharing with you.

If you do three things well every day, you will make progress in different areas of your life, daily.

Maybe it is  cleaning the bathroom (not just wiping the toothpaste off the spout).

Maybe it is diving into your daily devotional and really reading the listed scripture, contemplating the afterthought questions and praying about the message.

Maybe it is focusing on communications and returning the two phone calls you’ve put off for some time.

Maybe it is cleaning up the barn in a way that you would be proud to show around a last-minute guest.

Maybe it is shutting your office door and diving into the tough project for an hour straight, giving it your undivided attention.

Maybe it is taking ten minutes to actually sort through the stack on the kitchen island and put things where they belong. (FYI: belts, fundraiser reminders, spare buttons and mail don’t belong on the kitchen island).

Maybe it is going to visit parents, grandparents, or a forgotten friend.

Maybe it is balancing your budget, taking a look at where your money is actually going.

Maybe it is reading an extra book to your child before you tuck them in.

Maybe it is going on a walk, run or skip (did you know it is impossible to skip and not smile?) to clear your mind for a few minutes.

Maybe it is clearing the refrigerator of bad contents and wiping down the shelves that you’ve not given thought to in a year.  

Maybe it is paying close attention to yourself when those red flag arise - and addressing them appropriately. 

Maybe it is sitting down with a cookbook and creative thinking to map out your meals for a week or two.

Maybe it is carefully choosing your words to change direction of thought.

By paying enough mind to 

three simple things 

throughout your day, 

you’ll no longer be carelessly 

going through the motions to maintain; 

you’ll be living with intent.

This time tomorrow I hope to be on the second floor of a farmhouse where I can hear a mousetrap go off in the basement. 

Some gals just don't sleep well in boutique beds. 

18 U.S.C. 1702 - Obstruction of correspondence

"Tell your husband to keep coming up with things for you to write about," the man in front of me in line at our tiny hometown Dollar General said, as he grabbed his receipt and headed for the door. 

"Oh, it's not a problem," I told him. "I thought Cody was to be in northern California for five days, but today I got a snapchat of a sign that read, Welcome to Reno! I'm not sure what state he's in, but I know it's a different time zone."

The man laughed as he put the receipt in his pocket and headed for his truck. He probably thought I was joking. 

When I got to my car I searched for Reno on the map; it's not far from northern California. I've been there twice, you'd think I'd know this. The guy likely thought I was wacky and strung out on mashed peas and barn fly spray. Stranger things have happened.

I drove home from daycare thinking about the man's comment and why I haven't sat down to write in three weeks. 

I'd like to file a claim:

18 U.S.C. 1702 - Obstruction of correspondence
As follows:

One day Caroline brought me a finger nail - that didn't belong to a human (so is that a claw??) from under the clothes line. I blacked out for three hours. 

One evening I spent my time researching ways to soften toddler stools. The next evening I picked pears, tomatoes and apples from our yard and garden. The next evening was spent researching poisonous insects and invisible funguses that might live on pears, tomatoes and apples from our yard and garden. 

One evening was spent opening and closing the door that shuts off our stairway to the second floor.  Each time I did it, I caught a strange whiff of something that made me uneasy. Thirty-seven swings into the investigation, I realized it smelled like the AXE body spray the guy that remodeled our upstairs (four years ago) wore during that time. It made me wonder if he insulated our upstairs with AXE rather than actual insulation...?

One morning - before 6:00 AM - was spent scrolling through 497 birthday greetings on Facebook. If you want to begin a week well, begin it this way. 

One evening was spent reading through the agenda for the ladies' retreat I'm about to embark upon. The following hour was spent googling and shopping for "what ladies wear to go kayaking".  Then paying $18 extra to have it here by Saturday. 

Four evenings/afternoons were spent baking peach pies for a cookout, a birthday party or an ill neighbor. I estimate I only consumed 3/4 lb. raw dough during this time. 

One evening was spent sending Cody photos of this frog trapped in our living room window while he sent me photos of this:

Doesn't seem fair, does it? 

I could touch my subject while sitting in our living room. 

And he couldn't. 

The obstruction of correspondence in the last three weeks has little (or nothing) to do with breaking into mailboxes or bribing a postal carrier. I guess if I had time to put in that kind of effort, I would have written every day for the last three weeks. Instead, my obstruction of correspondence has more to do with navigating a season of life where there is very little sitting down and composing my thoughts, but rather living day-by-day (or hour-by-hour?) off a to-do list that requires attention and action. And lots of oatmeal kisses. 

At what age do we quit feeling like we're operating in survival mode? 

I hope you responded with "33".