I had everything set for this week, the planner was decked out. I was ready to make things happen and get things done.
Lord, maybe I am not the maker of things?
Monday launched, and we soared through the lists, zipped fast through the errands, put all the things on all the shelves where they belong. We went to sleep, all folded and laid out for the next day.
Lord, thank you for days that feel complete.
The next day was beautiful. And the next. But the week did not get things done, these things I had planned. The minutes scattered away, completely ignoring the corrals I had set for them.
Lord, somewhere we lost steam.
The tasks matter, at least to me. And to the running of our tiny world. The tasks are not everything, but they are something. I never liked leaving blanks on a test, when I could get extra points for showing my work.
Lord, I confess that I grade myself a C+ for a question that is not even on the final.
The wise ones say, don’t worry about it. The kind ones say, you did the things that matter. The shiny ones say, pin this and make it happen.
Lord, I hear your voice say you know me. You smile and whisper: worry and doing and shining are the things that make you just you.
That is me. That is me with lists in hand and three new ideas. That is me stopping, listening, playing “I spy” and being interrupted by my loves. That is the me who is becoming. Tired but excited, challenged but focused, inadequate but so wonderfully full.
Lord, are you really saying, “you do you”?
The good news is it’s Friday. There is enough grace coming in the holy communion of Saturday’s waffles and the sacred mess of Sunday’s best efforts to cover anything I have missed.
Lord, may these moments ready us for a new week.
I am grateful for the moments. And honest enough to know that I will once again jot down one million ways to keep our schedule humming right along. Before I fly off into Monday with a caffienated flourish, let me hold Friday’s truth in my busy hands:
Becoming matters more than doing.
Grace fills all the blanks.
Lord, “take my moments and my days, let them flow in ceaseless praise.”
Also from Erin Robinson Hall
Ground | Ordinary Time
The floor we walk on has carpet. Some tile and hardwood. It’s covered in dog hair and sprinkled with lego pieces. My steps wear a path into the carpet upstairs, between the laundry room and kids’ bedrooms. I have learned which spots in the floor will creak and how to step gently like a ninja with no sound. These floors are sacred ground for us. Being mindful of our steps has been part of the healing work we have done for the past several years. Sometimes, the ground we walk has crunching leaves It can feel cold beneath our bare feet, shoes intentionally left inside. In our #traumainformedparenting journey, my husband and I learned early on that there is a magic of touching a different kind of ground with your bare toes. The sensory experience can pull someone away from where memories or triggers have taken them, and bring them back to the present moment. We learned some practices for grounding that have saved us more than once. As many of us know, the basic idea of grounding is to communicate with your body where you are truly located, instead of just listening to the alert signals your body might be sending that make you feel fearful, unsafe, and worried. Grounding can happen by connecting with things you can identify right in front of you. To get you in the present. To remind you, you are safe here. You can breathe, you can use your tools, you can be okay. Grownups can do the 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 practice – five colors you can see, four things you...
Watch the Clouds
Today, we loaded up our little circus and took a drive. The kids had a school holiday, and we planned a little fun out of the house. Didn’t matter that the weather forecast screamed “stay home” or that the clouds tried to warn us. We packed enough snacks for this crew and drove to see the animals at Dauset Trails. In our family, this is a week for celebrating adventures. We are celebrating our “Coming Home Day” tomorrow, the day we brought our kids home. Adventure in the rain felt just right for this morning, and we had fruit snacks, so why not? Halfway into our drive, the sky opened up and rain began to pour. I watched the older kids’ faces. Logan, our oldest son, whispered, “Does this mean we got in the car and came all this way for nothing?” Disappointment doesn’t always go over well with this crew. I said, “Nope. It does not mean that at all, buddy. It means . . . Disney Rules! Now, you watch the clouds.” He grinned and knew exactly what I meant. My husband forgot this particular Disney Rule, but trusted that I could avoid the whining and tears for a while with this plan. We adore Disney World, and the first time my husband and bio son Logan went to Disney, I laid out my “rules.” There are many, all brilliant. The one about rain and storms, I will share. It goes like this. When it storms at Disney, as it does every afternoon, you do not leave the park. You do not hide away in a store...
I Brave
Deep waters, flames, and fears have come before. They will probably come again. But the narrative I want my child to have, and the narrative I hope to voice continually for myself and for my family is this: Fear doesn’t win. We are strong. And just in case we’re not brave enough, we will be brave for each other.
