being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus
Balancing my Caps
I’m going to try to make this short. Seriously. Stop laughing. I can write a short post. I can!
Honestly, I’ve been thinking a lot about balance lately.
I’m sitting here, at 10 p.m., just 27 minutes after sticking a turkey in the oven to cook (yes, I did), I’m wondering if I’m ever going to find a way to divide my time evenly and prioritize my responsibilities.
I’m a night owl (obviously, I mean, I’m cooking at 10 p.m.), but I want to be a morning person. Or at least I think I need to become a morning person. I’m not good at breakfast. I’ve found a crutch in caffeine. If my morning goes badly (which it almost always does), it sets the tone for the rest of the day.
I wonder if I’m ever going to figure this out?
I can sit down and write out lists and plans and schedules for myself, but I won’t follow them (believe me, I’ve tried). Or, I’ll start and do well for a few days. Then by day five or six I’ll fizzle and wonder what happened.
Balance. How do I balance all the caps that I wear on my head? Because most of the time, those caps must be worn simultaneously, no matter how much they clash with each other (wife, mother, cook, housekeeper, teacher, chauffeur, etc.). Then I have a whole pile of caps that I want to put on, but can find little or no available time to get them out of the closet and wear them (writer, long-distance runner, sewer, decorator). I feel like the peddler in “Caps for Sale” precariously walking down the road of life, ever so slowly and carefully, as to not disturb the caps on my head.
I try to sit down for a rest and the monkeys in the tree (I happen to have three) grab them all off of my head and scatter them all about. I get to the same point as the peddler, without words, shaking my fists and jumping up and down.
I find myself undone. Throwing a fit. Letting my inner toddler out. She’s not cute. No, not at all.
I find myself, at the end of the day, cooking a turkey and pondering the turning point of the day that took me down the road that led me to the tree, that let the monkeys take all the caps off my head, that led to my undoing.
Yet, in the midst of all those caps, it’s missing. The cap labeled “Child of God” is nowhere to be found (it’s probably underneath a pile of laundry or in a bag of canned goods I have yet to put away). For some reason, I forget that all this balancing I’m doing is just another prideful way to say, “I can do it without you God.” I forget that all these caps don’t have to sit precariously on my head, teeter tottering as I walk down the road. He offers to carry them. Why don’t I let him? Why don’t I give up all these caps and let him give them to me as HE sees fit? Even more, why don’t I stop to rest at HIS feet, instead of some random tree (called Netflix, youtube, facebook, itunes – you get the point).
I don’t know. I can’t give you a reason other than that I’m a sinful, broken person. I’m forgetful. Like the Children of Israel, I so often forget that I’ve been delivered and given blessing upon blessing. My tunnel vision leads me to complaint after complaint and a spirit of ungratefulness that forgets that grace is enough.
Grace is enough to carry me through the next hour and fifteen minutes until the turkey I started too late at night is finished cooking. It’s enough to carry me through the rest of the night. It’s enough to get me out of bed to put on that mother hat. It’s enough to show me the best way to teach my daughter. It’s enough to finally fold and put away all the laundry sitting in piles in the play room. It’s enough. It’s enough. It’s enough.