I get inspired to write at the most inconvenient moments. I have been cleaning feverishly all day, organizing my Tupperware cupboard and my pots and pans, sweeping, doing laundry, and cleaning up from the birthday party we had last night. You get the picture. In less than 15 minutes I have to go pick up the kids from school. I am sweaty and disgusting and should be taking a shower instead of blogging, but instead inspiration hit me right as I was sweeping the last pile into the dustpan. I was listening to Kim Walker belt out an amazing song that I can’t remember now. (10 minutes later) That’s all my brain can hold out for anymore. My short-term memory is maxed with five kids, a husband, a church, school, and whatever other responsibilities I may have at the moment.
My moment of inspiration actually began in anger and bitterness. As I dislodged another kernel of popcorn from under the couch, and picked another miniscule game piece out of the pile of dirt I was sweeping, I felt rage building up inside. I cleaned this house from top to bottom last week before our mini Thanksgiving vacation to Orlando. Actually, the anger started upstairs as I saw that for the endless time my nine year old son had left his clothes lying on the bathroom floor after multiple times of me telling him to take his clothes to the laundry. Finding my five (oops! She is six as of yesterday…short-term memory problems again) year old daughter’s multiple pairs of shoes in various places in the house didn’t help the state of my heart. One pair, maybe, but two, then three pairs of her shoes for me to pick up did not make me a happy momma!
So I begin fuming “God, how am I supposed to do anything valuable if day after day all I do is pick up other people’s crap?” (Yes, I use the word crap when I talk to God…He sees my heart anyway so why fake it?) The rage kicks in as I think of all the amazing things I could be doing…Blogging, authoring a book, preparing for a sermon, a bible study, planning the future school I want to start, having coffee with a friend, healing sessions, pretty much anything but another load of freaking laundry!
I hear Kim Walker singing something about sacrifice, and I start picturing Jesus giving His life for me, and I look at the measly pile of dirt in front of me. What the heck was I doing to help His Kingdom come? I mean, sure, I am giving life to five kids and supporting my husband who pastors a small church and works really hard to provide for us. Five kids that are on my black list at the moment, and a husband with a hurt back does not seem exciting to me. I am not sure any of my efforts are paying off.
Clear as day, right as I am in the height of my wrath, and thinking about how I am going to sit my whole family down and give them a piece of my mind this evening, Jesus spoke to my heart.
“I see what you are doing and I care.”
“You? You are the King of the Universe! Why would YOU care that I am sweeping dog hair and kid crud? Don’t you have more important things to care about?” (Not to mention, my attitude was not very Christian at the moment.)
“What you are doing is important.”
I know this sounds dumb, but I started to cry, right in the middle of sweeping the floor. The rage began to melt away. What I was doing sure didn’t feel important.
“I love you. You are making a difference.”
“I’m not doing anything great. I’m not seeing salvations, or changing the world, or giving to the poor. I’m barely surviving in my own home.”
“You are working to be excellent. Do you think I would rather have one amazing all-star, or a hundred people who were devoted to me and did the best they could with what they had?”
I started to get it. If my five kids each did their job and pulled their share it would make me a happier mother than if one of them was a star of the show and the rest of them were no-good kids. If my community was filled with people giving back even a little bit, it would be better than one person being like Mother Teresa and thousands of others being takers and self-absorbed.
The verse floated into my mind, probably from long-term memory storage, since we already established that my short-term memory is extremely short.
“And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance; for you serve the Lord Christ.” Colossians 3:23-24
Actually, it didn’t float in as clearly as worded above, but I decided to look it up for you instead of give the mishmash version that what in my head. The point is, whether I am sweeping the floor for the millionth time or preaching the gospel to the far side of the world, if I am doing it unto Him then it matters.
My heart shifted in a matter of minutes, and I went from a rage-aholic ready to tear her world apart, to an inspired and joyful blogger who had just been reminded how important she is to her Master and Savior. I wish I could explain how simple words from Him can have a more profound effect on my heart than a thousand self help books ever could. I can only pray that you, my readers, have such an experience, and then you will understand how something so simple can become so rich and full of the revelation of His love.
As I close, I do have to admit that I didn’t get all this written in the 15 minutes I mentioned above. I paused my thought process to get the kids from school and make dinner. Luckily, most of my thoughts made it out before I lost them again. Now, as I wrap up this post, I smell the delicious aroma of turkey noodle soup wafting in the air. I am making the soup from our Thanksgiving leftovers and my stomach is rumbling with anticipation. I only wish I could share a bowl with each of you. Until next time, here is to the simple things.