Messy Life, Best Life

A trail of peanut butter and jelly handprints run the length of the kitchen cupboards and refrigerator door.  I do my best to see them as sweet reminders of the boy growing up right in front of me.  Granted, my thoughts don't always start out that positive and you better believe I'm already teaching the little man how to scrub these floors.  But I'm told I'll miss these 'messes' in the future and I definitely believe that.
Owen is turning into a toddler at a speed I can not comprehend.  I literally feel like I was just holding him as a newborn baby and now it's all I can do to catch him!  He worked on walking for a few days but quickly progressed to the speed Derek's mother always warned me about, 'the trot'!  This boy does not have a 'slow' setting.

Owen's vocabulary now includes correct animal noises for cows, dogs, cats, elephants, lions, chickens, horses and fish!  We were in the grocery store and he kept 'moooo'ing even after I repeatedly explained that, no, there were no cows in that aisle.  He insisted, however, and took the 'moo'ing up an octave so I investigated and, sure enough, found his cow right there on the yogurt container!  'Chiiiiz' means cheese and he certainly eats his fill of it and knows exactly where we keep it.  Other favorite words include 'Dada', 'ball', 'nana' and 'trkktr' (translation: tractor)  This little man amazes us on a regular basis.  Not to mention, he's also hilarious!  The shenanigans that go on between Owen and his father at the dinner table have been cause for milk snorted right out the nose!  MY nose, that is.
I love my life with these boys.

I also do a lot of cleaning in my life with these boys.  It's basically an ongoing, 24/7, never-quite-finished event.  Toys and books and water spills.  Every stuffed animal lovingly strewn around the bedroom and all my keys and pens hidden underneath couch cushions.  Mud tracked through the living room and dirty shirts that didn't quite land in the laundry basket.  And, I'll admit to the occasional grumbling as I scrub unidentified sticky objects off the couch or reach deep into the scariness of dirty socks left wrong-side-out for the zillionth time.
But at the end of the day, I realize how beautiful all those messes are; I realize, sometimes after a bubble bath and glass of wine, how much I love what I do.  We are all called to serve but the definition is unique to each of us and can vary greatly throughout the seasons of life.  This season of my life is sticky and a bit messy but it's absolutely the best!  As I pour out, give, serve- every time I wipe Owen's grimy face, every time I hug Derek's sweaty neck, I'm making a difference.  Do not underestimate the affects of your service, whatever that may be, or the influence of your faithfulness in the small things.  When you give, you are making a difference.

John 13:15 'If I then, the Lord and the Teacher, washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet.  For I gave you an example that you also should do as I did to you.' 

Maybe the biggest messes are simply, wonderfully, an opportunity for bigger grace!  
Isn't that what Jesus shows us repeatedly throughout history?  God uses the rejects, the screw-ups and the outcasts to lead His people and bring His message.  Too small, too loud and the motliest of crews are exactly who the King of kings works through to win the battles!  He bends His knees, picks up the crusty, calloused feet of the disciples and He GIVES, He washes.  He's commissioning them (and us!) to go out and do what He does, to love people in their mess and journey with them!  Maybe it's not about having a perfect, shiny, polished life (can I get an 'Amen!') but rather, allowing Jesus to work through the messes that are inevitable.  He uses those that are willing to admit their messiness because then His grace is so incredibly OBVIOUS!  Let Him transform the messes and then follow that example wherever you go!
When I face spills and laundry and words that didn't quite come out right, I want to see them as opportunities to give!  Give grace.  Wash the feet; that's what will transform.  Give time, give love, give your full attention.  There might still be a mess to clean up, green tea dripping down my shirt or half a bottle of Murphy's Oil spilled right there in the middle of Target, but what if I could see it all with new perspective?
Messes make me get down on Owen's level, messes make me realize how hard my husband works.  Messes are opportunities for me to follow the incredible example of Jesus; who deals with my messes every day.  Wash the feet, extend the grace; serve wherever you are, no matter how insignificant the tasks may feel.  Just do it, Bethel.  'Just' give, 'just' love, 'just' breathe before you respond to the disaster in front of you, and maybe- just maybe- we can begin to realize the beautiful potential these messes hold.

Pig Pen Realizations

I doubt that it takes the Father by surprise when the youngest comes forward with brazen request.  'I'm ready, Dad,' he puffs up his chest, 'I want my share of the inheritance; I'm off to see the world.'  Of course, the Father knows the son is far from ready.  But rather than fight over it, brandishing authority and harsh sounding words, He simply, graciously.. agrees.  The money is withdrawn or removed from a safe or unearthed.. whatever the case may be, and handed over to a child who thinks he's a man, thinks he's ready, thinks he has what it takes.  And without a glance over his shoulder, adventurous son trots down the road, flags a cab (or a donkey..) and the journey begins.
The start of his new life is grand, extravagant; full of, I'm sure, exactly what the young son had in mind.  But the money dwindles, the lifestyle catches up and he wakes up one morning to the stark reality of his situation.  He has nothing left.  He can't afford the room for another wild night, can't even afford breakfast for his growling belly.  And if that's the case, well, the company he's been keeping can't afford to stick around either.  Party's over and he's all out of luck.

In his search for a job, the incompetence is revealed.  'So, you have no experience?  What about references?' says shop keeper after restaurant owner.  They're not impressed and, honestly, the young son doesn't blame them.  He's given up on himself when he stumbles across the pig farmer.  'No education necessary, just keep the animals fed.  And don't get any ideas about the scraps.. I need my hogs plump.'
This arrangement could only last so long.  The young son was barely scraping by and he started to think about the servants in the house where he grew up.  Even the lowest of the low in his Father's home had more than enough to eat.  And at last, the young son came to his senses.
The walk home was the longest of his life but the battle within him had come to an end, all he felt now was remorse and surrender.  He would mop kitchen floors, take out the trash; no task was too low as long as he could come home.  The speech was rehearsed time and time again until the words flowed effortlessly, 'Father, I am sorry.  I've sinned against heaven and against you!  I'm not worthy to be called your son but, please, make me like one of your hired servants.'

Little did the dejected, dirty son realize that the Father saw him as soon as he rounded the corner.  He had been waiting for his return and He was thrilled to see his son!  The Father tore out of the house and, robes flapping in the wind, raced down the driveway.  Imagine the surprise on the young son's face as he realized Who was creating the cloud of dust headed right towards him!  Before he had time to process or react, the arms of his Father were flung around him and all in a rush he knew it to be true, he had come home.
Tears burned hot in the young son's eyes, and his perfect words were jumbled.  The Father didn't seem to notice and didn't acknowledge the request for humble work.  He was too busy kissing his son, flinging his robe around him and ordering the servants to prepare a grand party!  'My son has come home and it's time to celebrate!  He was dead and is alive again.  He was lost and is found!'  The Father's arm never left the young son's shoulders and as the boy summoned enough courage to look his Dad in the eyes, he saw nothing but love and it brought him to his knees.  No judgment, no bitterness and not a single ounce of 'I told you so'; although all of the above would have been duly justified.

The story continues in Luke 15 but this is where I'm stuck right now.  The lump grows in my own throat as I identify with this young son.  It matters not the size of the pig pen or the type of mud I wallowed in, the truth is that I was there.  We've all been there.  Sometimes we revisit that stinking hog pen on a daily basis!  Convinced of our own sufficiency, off to prove a thing or two, maybe we're just plain stubborn.  It might look grand for a time but in the end we find ourselves wading through pig scraps and you know what else.  And that's when we feel the pull on our hearts, the longing for true love and the whisper of Hope that this world can not offer.
Our Father lets us go our own way, allowing us to squander the riches He gives.  He knows that we have to figure it out on our own.  As much as He would love to save us the heartache, a true Father doesn't want us in His house out of obligation but because we choose to be there and realize the gift that it is to be His child.  He freely lets us go and then He waits, longing for the day that we will come to our senses.
When I arrive at the end of myself I can finally realize my desperate need for the One who has it all together.  But sometimes it takes awhile to become aware of the fact that I'm wallowing in a pig pen when I could have access to the castle!  The walk home will seem long but He will meet us there!  And I can guarantee, His response is always abundantly more than we deserve.  His response is love; the kind that bring us to our knees.
“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him."  Luke 15:19

Redefining 'worse case scenario'

It wasn't until the flight attendant came over the plane's loudspeaker announcing that 'We will be getting into LAX about 30 minutes late.'  And 'Could everyone please remain seated.'  Then I knew it was all over but the crying.  Literally, many tears would be shed on this journey....
Everyone asked if I was nervous to fly back to Hawaii with a one year old and without Derek.  I would casually shrug it off, saying that I had prepared myself for worse-case scenario and anything other than that would be a piece of cake.  Well, my reference point for 'worse-case scenario' was the LAST time we flew back to Hawaii; Owen was teething, burning up with fever and we spent the majority of those five and a half hours walking the aisle and bonding with the flight attendants in the back.  We survived and I figured it couldn't possibly be worse..... But, alas, I was sorely mistaken.
Backing up, the reason I was flying without the man who always steers me in the right direction is because he graciously let me extend my vacation to see more family and friends.  My Grandma celebrated her 90th birthday and a whole pack of family members trekked to Colorado for the occasion; I couldn't possibly come so close and then miss an event like that!  Someone has to bring home the bacon, however, so Owen and I partied for an extra 5 days while Derek returned to work.  [Have I mentioned how I like that man?!]

 Pikes Peak with some of my favorites!!

These boys have an incredible GREAT Grandma <3

Okay, back to the journey that I was not prepared for.
The day started out on a high note.  Owen and I had an airport party with my long-lost-best friend and partner in crime.  I couldn't have asked for a better send off!  We made it to the plane with time to spare and Owen quickly set to work, charming the ladies behind the desk... okay, any lady within crab walking distance!  We boarded the plane and did the meet and greet with a sweet college student lucky enough to sit next to us.  Then they informed us that the closet door was jammed and we absolutely could not take off until the door was fully closed or fully opened.  Not a big deal unless it takes 30 minutes to repair.  And even those 30 minutes would not have mattered if my layover in LA had been any longer than 45 minutes!

Now, Owen and I don't mess around in that stroller, and we may have set a new record this particular day.  But the man unloading said stroller from the plane was not out to set any records.  Neither was the man driving the bus to the OTHER TERMINAL of LAX where our plane was awaiting us.  Needless to say, our sprinting didn't make a difference; the Kona bound flight was long gone by the time we came panting up to the gate.  'Not to fear', they informed me, 'you're on the next flight to Honolulu, we've got you a hotel there and you can fly to Kona tomorrow.'  Not exactly what I had in mind but the adventurer in me was, honestly, pretty stoked about a chance to see a tiny bit of another island.

The little man was a trooper, but he definitely expressed some negative opinions when we ran to yet another gate, boarded another flight and attempted to 'settle in' for the 5 1/2 hour flight.  I was praying.. a lot.  And so were many many other people, I'm convinced, because after only 45 minutes of juggling and bouncing and tears and fervently apologizing to the woman next to us for a drink spilled all down her legs... the sweet little man finally fell asleep.  Grace, my friends, abundant grace right there.  I don't think I've ever been so thankful for closed eyes and still body.  He didn't sleep the whole way, but he was certainly more agreeable when he woke up.  

Now, this isn't all that bad, you're saying to yourself.  But just wait... here's the best part.  We arrived in Honolulu at 10pm where we caught a taxi and headed to Waikiki because all the airport hotels were full.  Again, not ideal, but I was secretly thrilled to go downtown.  The hotel was incredible and, I should've realized, too good to be true.  They looked at my airport issued voucher and quickly said 'Yeah, that's not going to work..'  Apparently, the airlines forgot to list the payment information and there was no way for the hotel to charge for the room.  A.k.a No way I was getting a key or chance to lay down on a bed.  Owen turned on his charm and when that didn't work, he lost it.  I may have also shed a few tears at this point as we turned around and went back out to the street to catch yet another taxi!  

I won't bore you with the details of those six hours logged in the Honolulu airport.  Let's just say, it wasn't pretty.  There was a significant amount of homeless people biding their time and conversing with stuffed animals.  There was also a significant lack of open coffee brewing establishments!  Owen slept off and on, if I was pushing the stroller or holding him.   I'd never fallen asleep mid-stride until this night.

Morning finally came, just in time for them to point me towards a different terminal and 'oh, you might not make it.. you should probably run!' were not the words I wanted to hear!  We did make it, but not before setting off the alarms in security.  Turns out hand sanitizer, when applied liberally throughout the entire night, can show up as bomb fragments on their hand swab.  And yes, patting down my exhausted body was absolutely necessary and while we're at it, let's x-ray the shoes because there's just no telling what a terrorist could fit in a pair TOMS.  Oh and they may have lost my bag at some point in the chaos.  We've redefined 'worse case scenario' around here... 

[one of my amazing bonus sisters!!]

Now, obviously, we survived the ordeal and made it home sweet home.  Seeing Derek and collapsing in bed was infinitely more wonderful because of our perilous journey.  Instead of scarring me for life, this traveling experience was actually incredibly empowering (after the fact, of course).  I'm ready to fly anywhere; just give me another week or so to recover!  But the true beauty of this trip wasn't even realized until a few days later when I was reading to Owen about Lazarus.  

What I've never really grasped was why Jesus didn't go straight to Bethany when he heard that his friend was sick.  He could have also healed him from afar, he'd done that before.  But neither of those solutions takes place; Lazarus dies.  By the time Jesus shows up, his friend has been buried for four days!  And my heart wants to know why??  Why did he need to die, just to be brought back to life?  Doesn't that seem like an unnecessary step?  Why did Mary and Martha have to go through all that agony and sorrow, mourning the loss of their beloved brother!  Talk about a worse case scenario!  But Owen's children's Bible speaks the answer simple and true, it's so that God could be glorified.  Isn't that always the answer?

We don't have to understand why awful things happen, and sometimes we never will!  But God does not allow anything to touch us that He can't ultimately use for our good and His glory.  In a world running rampant with death and evil and broken hearts, this feels incomprehensible.  But that doesn't mean it's not the truth.  I realize that my 'horror story' of an airport experience is so trivial compared to the painful journey that so many are walking.  I'm simply saying that no matter our path and no matter how unfair, unneccessary or incredibly painful the circumstances may seem... God IS at work and He can always bring good from the mess.  Our worse case scenario may just be what has to happen before He can bring us back to life!

[photo cred: Elizabeth J]

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28

So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me.  I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.”  When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”  John 11:41-43