Under the Snow Pile

This is me. . .

Peeking out from the snow pile of life

and birthdays . . .

and birthday parties. . .

Two children with birthdays two years and two days apart

{there are no new comments to make about this phenomenon, believe me}

and you know. . . just stuff. . .

So much work and life and stuff.

I get bogged down in the details and I want to stay in the moment, see the gifts, not the mess.

I don't succeed very often.

My sister drew this picture of me; the title is Hayley doing a good deed with a bad attitude:

 

I about died laughing looking at it. . . how can that little puppy dog be the dead on image of me. . . in a birthday party frenzy, a get to church on time frenzy, a get your chores done so we can go sledding frenzy?

 

 

More than half the time my frustration is caused by good things, things intended to bless people, things I want to do. 

 

 

I'm reading Anne Morrow Lindbergh's beautiful little work A Gift from the Sea.  She writes to weary women, burdened, burned out American women and though the original publishing date is 1955, the words ring true to my soul today in 2013. 

 

Here is a strange paradox.  Woman instinctively wants to give, yet resents giving herself in small pieces.

 Chapter 3, Moon Shell, pg. 40

 

I know that this is true.

I want to give, but I do resent being strung out in so many places. This is a problem with no obvious solution to me. 

The other day Eli was throwing Cambria's crayons from his perch on the coffee table, awaiting my reprimand with challenging toddler eyes and  a little jutted chin.

Cambria was completely exasperated.

Ugh, we should like, have , like, a little jail for Eli!

I wanted to laugh because sometimes I'm tempted to feel the same way. . . could we just lock up all of our distractions and focus on one thing at a time?

That's not my option though and that's not what God has called me to.  He has called me to a home to open and to children to love, a man to help and little people to teach.  He's called me to give.  When I run out of things,

energy

time

resources

to give. . .

He still is there to draw on.

I'm thankful for that well that never runs dry.