When I began this blog, I wrote about my inspiration for "Cultured Grace" The entire point being that I am on a journey- of loving others well, especially those that share my last name. They seem to be the most challenging, somehow! Since I am on a journey, I haven't arrived. But, by allowing myself to culture in the grace of God almighty, day by day I see something beautiful: GROWTH. Suddenly, what was once so impossible for me is-actually-happening. It feels me with hope for my future, because I know I can overcome stubborn habits. My life is full of successes, some I share in the post I linked above, and here I will share another. Yet, to avoid promoting myself, I will remind all of my dear readers that I am still making small strides towards where I really want to be as a successful lover of Christ, and my family.
Here is a success story:
On Monday afternoon, at exactly 1:42 PM, I applauded myself. I even danced a little, and spun in a circle. What had I accomplished?
I cleaned a bathroom toilet.
You see, I didn't grow up cleaning bathroom toilets. I am of a lucky few, raised outdoors, a product of free-range parenting (a concept now I actually cringe at the thought of, though I do examine my fingers, toes, arms and legs sometimes and take note I am still in one piece). My parents owned a farm, and I spent 7 days a week in the dirt, imagining the most outlandish of scenarios: that I was a famous riding instructor or a veterinarian, or some days, my friends and I just pretended we had been dropped in the middle of the woods and had to survive against all odds (which is what free-range parenting really is, if we're honest...but we won't go there now). There are days I don't even remember eating, simply because I refused to come up for air. My mom suffered with a chronic fatigue and pain when I turned 9, and when we weren't at the farm, she was resting. Cleaning was a twice a month phenomenon, when my mom would lock all the doors and threaten that my sister and I would not see sunlight until we could see the floor of our house. I dreaded cleaning. I imagined that one day I would live in a house so clean, it would never have to be cleaned! Ha! My mom eventually found a cleaning system that worked for our fast-paced family, which encouraged 15 minutes a day of cleaning, and a vow to never leave dishes in your sink (always shine your sink!). From there, the way we cleaned took a turn and our house was nearly always company-ready. Mentally, I could never seem to get to a place where cleaning was just that- 15 minutes. Instead, I saw my entire day disappearing beneath the heavy burden of picking my clothes up off the floor.
When I got to college, I filled my desk with cleaning supplies: Lysol, sponges, 409, and febreze. I was determined to pick up this skill I had never practiced. I made my bed. I shined my shower tote. I lysoled my door knob like a plague was imminent. I thought I had "arrived." That was then, before I was a wife and mother.
For the past 6 years, I have majorly tried to become a "clean" person. I have bought numerous books on organization, blamed my nostalgic childhood, wrote myself schedules, and still, only found relief in allowing the house to fall into madness before spending 10 hours straight pulling it back together. I did happen to marry a "clean freak" who has relieved me of the burden of perfection because A) that isn't his standard, and B) if I don't measure up to his standard, he will get off from his work and began cleaning like a madman on a mission. You can imagine how wonderful I feel about myself when that happens (only every other day). I am really grateful for how much my husband helps me, but I've felt all along this was my battle to conquer. Recently I returned home from a 13 day trip with my three children last week, and put the laundry away within the first five days. I can see my living room floor every day now. My bedroom is the cleanest room in the house. And...and....I am a regular scrubber of toilets. Regular, as in weekly. I weekly clean toilets. No one open my fridge or my closet door...but my house is getting to a place where I can SEE that I am overcoming my weaknesses. All of this has been a PROCESS. Gradual. Not overnight. Somehow cleaning two bathrooms in a consecutive manner made me feel like a rock star.
Now, failure (or my next achievement, really...):
Somewhere along the way, I forgot to socialize my 6 year old son. I watched him goofing off with our grandpa a couple days ago and it was completely safe and fun, an environment where my son could test his strength and know he wasn't going to get hurt. Except that he did get hurt- only he didn't, he was just whining, "Stop!!" and as soon as grandpa would relent, my son would begin lashing out with merciless hitting and slapping. When Grandpa would say stop, he wouldn't. So Grandpa would up the tickling madness, and my son would fall into a stoop and cry. I was on the sidelines saying, "Don't hurt him! He's asking you to stop!" [To my son, that is. My 83 year old Grandpa can take it!] Eventually my husband pulled me aside and whispered, "We have a problem. You're turning him into a Momma's Boy!" Yes, what every momma wants to hear. I would have loved to grab that little snuggle monkey into my lap and promise him grandpa would never be allowed to play with him again, but the more I watched, the more obvious it became. My son was acting like a brat- dishing it out, but not allowing the fight to come full circle. I thought about a lot of things in those following moments, about how I was homeschooling him in some ways, to keep him close and safe. Even as I read my homeschool curriculum I have gasped, "He isn't ready for that! What kind of overachievers write this stuff??"
Oh, but he is. Ready for sports. Ready for friends. Ready for patterns and graphs. Ready for *gulp* some independence....from me.
With that, I ask for grace. I ask for HELP. Just like five years ago I began my journey of asking God to give me grace as I learned to keep up a house for three people...then four...then five....soon, six. I can feel myself stepping into that growth and I celebrate. I look into the obvious places I continue to fail and know if I am intentional, if I declare war on these shortcomings and partner with God, I will find success.
Just yesterday, I read in my "Jesus Calling" devotional: My Power plugs in most readily to consecrated weakness.
I love that. Consecrated weakness. That is what allowing our lives to be shaped by the Master Potter really looks like. You could start now. Ask God what weakness He wants to mold into a strength. Discover the true power of grace through vulnerability and submission, and celebrate along the way.
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