They might arrive just moments after I’ve finished vacuuming the momentarily neat floor.  But that doesn’t mean it won’t be strewn with toys before they leave.  They see that our children don’t always eat their dinner nicely or politely—or at all.  The rolls might have turned out perfectly but I forgot to salt the soup. 

But they are real friends and we talk late without noticing the time or even thinking about putting up a façade.

It’s harder to be real online. 

No matter how I write, it’s never all of my day or everything about us.  It might be more real to start out every post with a picture of the toys on the floor or the dirty dishes in the sink. It just might not be the most encouraging.

But I remember my purpose in blogging: to open up my fingers to Him as I hone my writing skills, praying to bring a bit of encouragement to someone even as I am convicted by the words I type.

And I know you’ll know I’m real when I break links and misspell words and forget to salt the blog post.

Five-Minute Friday: Real

I settled down in a cozy chair in the corner furthest from the counter, prepared to get to work.  But as I quieted myself to write, all I could hear and see were the people around me.

The businesswoman next to me in a huff and puff argument with the person on the other end of the line.  The young mom two tables over who was in the midst of a heartbreaking phone call with her little ones.

No conversation is private in a full coffee shop.  Bits of a discussion on gender roles and submission drifted from the front of the store.  And the teenage boy halfway across the room was talking a little too loudly to his apparently enthralled female audience.

I fixed my eyes on my screen and wrote and edited and rewrote.  But all the while, I was gaining perspective on more than just the words I was writing.

During long days at home, with tragedies like bumped heads and missing shoes, calamities like crayon drawings on the floor and play-dough smeared into the grain of the table, it’s easy to lose perspective.  The noise of little cries grates on both the ears and the nerves.  And I think that it will all be okay if only I can have a few moments of peace and quiet.

But then I hear the words of a mom who is unable for whatever reason to go home to her children that night.  I find out that the husband of the lady next to me is recovering from a long illness.  I listen to the noise that is the voices of pain and fear and fighting in just our little coffee shop, and I return home with a more thankful heart.

Dinner might be full of cries over spilt milk, we might be awake half the night with a teething little person, everyone might be a little tired and grumpy—but it doesn’t matter.  I’m there, in the midst of it all—non-stop noise and chewed-on crayons and dirty dishes—with the ones I love.  And I have a whole lot to thank the Lord for…

“I wanna thank You Lord,
For noisy children and slamming doors,
And clothes scattered all over the floor,
My husband workin’ all the time,
Draggin’ in dead tired at night,
My never ending messy kitchen
And dirty dishes.”
-Scotty McCreery, “Dirty Dishes”

The hasty word.  The thoughts that only He Who made me hears.  The pride and the impatience and the list goes on.

And yet, in His tender grace, He is so quick to forgive me when I come to Him yet again.

I don’t love him as I should.

The tone of voice I use.  The times I think only of myself.  The faults that he who knows me better than anyone sees so very clearly.

And yet, in his tender love, he pulls me close and then does the dishes.

They don’t listen and they disobey.

Too often, my frustration with them stems from seeing my sinful self reflected there.

But then, I have the opportunity to give the tender love and forgiveness I’ve been shown.

Five-Minute Friday: tender

He eats magazines (always the ones with guns or furniture in them, of course).

And the latest quote from his daddy is, “Daniel, don’t eat the vacuum.”

Meanwhile, in another part of the house…er, castle…there’s a double wedding taking place.

Mary was so very thrilled with her groom, despite her daddy’s comments that the guy looked rather like a wet blanket.  (Can’t you see him, standing there on her left?)

Wet blanket or not, any father would appreciate her frugality in wedding bouquets—a simple apple does nicely for Mary Kate.

But this blushing bride?  Her furry husband goes everywhere with her these days.  And she’s very proud of the “wedding flowers” she borrowed from her grandma’s décor stash.

The next day, we hear them calling each other “Susan” and “Lucy”, and it’s clear Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty’s castles have been exchanged for Cair Paravel in the land of Narnia.  They listen to the Focus on the Family Radio Theater of “Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe” over and over and over again. Ru, of course, wants to be Lucy, so Mary “gets” to be Susan… And oh how they adore Aslan. When we finally let them watch the movie for the first time (skipping a few scary scenes), we weren’t sure if they’d fall asleep that night from the sheer thrill of seeing it all screen.

I love seeing them as enthralled with Narnia as I was.  I am thrilled to pieces at their imagination and ingenuity.  (The former little bedside table is now a fridge, with their kitchen things carefully stacked in the cupboard on top!)  And based upon the way Ruth narrates her every action (“She tripped over the blanket”, “She got into her chair”), I’m hoping we’ll have another writer on our hands (since her career in the fashion industry is questionable…).

{Linking up with Small Style}