The other night I found an ice cream scoop underneath my pillow. Thankfully it was clean. However, I sure didn't put it there. I'm not that sleep deprived.
When I walked out to the kitchen to put it away, I noticed our plastic ulu hanging from a light switch. I sighed and grabbed it too, then threw them both in the drawer. Honestly, it's amazing I can find anything when I need it.
Raising four children is more miracle than I could ever hope to deserve; but sometimes, in my less than ideal moments, I feel the chaos that comes with it is more thorn than rose. My life is full of half eaten pudding cups tipped over on the table, blanket booby traps of death in the middle of the kitchen floor, thoughtful heart shaped notes glued (think Elmer's) to my bedroom walls and ice cream scoops underneath my pillow. This is called "entropy". Here, I'll save you the trouble of looking it up.
Yes. I know it's actually a quantity used in thermodynamics and not intended to be applied to my mother life. But I can't help it. The second law of thermodynamics states that entropy always increases in an isolated system. You guys. That's my house. That's my life. That's the definition of this mothering childhood dynamic. Mine is the constant battle against the gradual decline into mental, emotional, and organizational madness. And you know what? Most days I'm losing.
Through the years I am handling it better, but I still don't do well with the all-consuming disorder. Especially when I'm losing to the all-consuming disorder. I can't express how much I don't like it. So it's unfortunate that, as a mother, there's no stopping it. There's no avoiding it: the missing shoes (the missing everything...), the days of incessant whining, the sink full of dishes, the counters and floor that aren't wiped, and the Mount Everest pile of laundry. That's where 'the unavailability of (my) system's energy' comes into play. I get overwhelmed and uncomfortable. I feel inadequate and start to forget my purpose in all of this.
And then. In the midst of the madness and screaming and bodily fluids, somehow, there are flickers of SO much magic. Magic moments that come, not in the absence of the entropic craziness, but in spite of it. The belly laughs. The cuddles. Their brotherly and sisterly love. The moments of patience, of learning, of stillness. The childlike, heartfelt, faith-filled prayers. The jokes. The constant forgiving of my faults. Their innocence and awe. Their unending capacity for goodness. All of that is magic.
As I sit here (in contemplation induced by out-of-place plastic kitchen utensils), I'm reminded that as much as it seems, this crazy isn't endless. My sticky, crumb encumbered house isn't endless. My raw emotional state isn't endless.
God is.
He reminds me that it's not my ability to eliminate chaos, but my efforts to use it that matter most. In His grace, He shows me He is in the disheveled array of my inadequate efforts. His hand is evident even on the days that have most fallen apart.
Sometimes that blows my mind.
God is a God of order, of purpose, of perfection. I struggle to reconcile His perfection (and His eventual requirement of my own perfection) with the fact that the Perfect Father accepts, condones, even endlessly loves my messy motherhood. With some divine law I have yet to understand, He actually takes all the chaos and creates harmony. In apparent disregard of thermodynamic law, He uses the disorder to make stability. He takes uncertainty and builds patience. He takes temptation and reinforces strength. He takes adversity and enriches love. He takes grief and births compassion. He takes fear and grows courage. Year after year, He miraculously rebuilds my disorder after His order.
I would prefer that my motherhood already be in order; that it already be closer to perfection than it is now. I would prefer to avoid the random, disorganized life messes. Oh how I long to be like Him. I'm not anywhere near close. Still, He's teaching me He uses moments to mold years. I cannot always see how perfection is possible in the chaotic seconds or days. Still, its potential is slowly manifesting as the months and years take shape. I am not blind to the progress made possible through His grace. I have come so far as a mother, as a wife, as a woman, and I'm just getting started. The same is true for my children.
Childhood is mayhem. But childhood ends. They will continue to progress, mayhem notwithstanding, into and throughout adulthood. I will continue to progress, mayhem notwithstanding, throughout their childhood and adulthood. Somehow He's taking us; this crazy, chaotic mess, and building the foundation of eternity.
Raising four children is more miracle than I could ever hope to deserve; and sometimes, in my better moments, I realize the chaos that comes with it is still part of the rose. My life is full of children's laughter bouncing through the house, the pitter patter of little growing hands and feet, the occasional spark of transcendence juxtaposed with the overwhelmingly ordinary...
Oh.
And ice cream scoops under my pillow.
When I walked out to the kitchen to put it away, I noticed our plastic ulu hanging from a light switch. I sighed and grabbed it too, then threw them both in the drawer. Honestly, it's amazing I can find anything when I need it.
Raising four children is more miracle than I could ever hope to deserve; but sometimes, in my less than ideal moments, I feel the chaos that comes with it is more thorn than rose. My life is full of half eaten pudding cups tipped over on the table, blanket booby traps of death in the middle of the kitchen floor, thoughtful heart shaped notes glued (think Elmer's) to my bedroom walls and ice cream scoops underneath my pillow. This is called "entropy". Here, I'll save you the trouble of looking it up.
Entropy: the unavailability of a system's energy to be converted into mechanical work, the degree of disorder or randomness in a system, lack of predictably, the gradual decline into disorder.
Yes. I know it's actually a quantity used in thermodynamics and not intended to be applied to my mother life. But I can't help it. The second law of thermodynamics states that entropy always increases in an isolated system. You guys. That's my house. That's my life. That's the definition of this mothering childhood dynamic. Mine is the constant battle against the gradual decline into mental, emotional, and organizational madness. And you know what? Most days I'm losing.
Through the years I am handling it better, but I still don't do well with the all-consuming disorder. Especially when I'm losing to the all-consuming disorder. I can't express how much I don't like it. So it's unfortunate that, as a mother, there's no stopping it. There's no avoiding it: the missing shoes (the missing everything...), the days of incessant whining, the sink full of dishes, the counters and floor that aren't wiped, and the Mount Everest pile of laundry. That's where 'the unavailability of (my) system's energy' comes into play. I get overwhelmed and uncomfortable. I feel inadequate and start to forget my purpose in all of this.
And then. In the midst of the madness and screaming and bodily fluids, somehow, there are flickers of SO much magic. Magic moments that come, not in the absence of the entropic craziness, but in spite of it. The belly laughs. The cuddles. Their brotherly and sisterly love. The moments of patience, of learning, of stillness. The childlike, heartfelt, faith-filled prayers. The jokes. The constant forgiving of my faults. Their innocence and awe. Their unending capacity for goodness. All of that is magic.
As I sit here (in contemplation induced by out-of-place plastic kitchen utensils), I'm reminded that as much as it seems, this crazy isn't endless. My sticky, crumb encumbered house isn't endless. My raw emotional state isn't endless.
God is.
He reminds me that it's not my ability to eliminate chaos, but my efforts to use it that matter most. In His grace, He shows me He is in the disheveled array of my inadequate efforts. His hand is evident even on the days that have most fallen apart.
Sometimes that blows my mind.
God is a God of order, of purpose, of perfection. I struggle to reconcile His perfection (and His eventual requirement of my own perfection) with the fact that the Perfect Father accepts, condones, even endlessly loves my messy motherhood. With some divine law I have yet to understand, He actually takes all the chaos and creates harmony. In apparent disregard of thermodynamic law, He uses the disorder to make stability. He takes uncertainty and builds patience. He takes temptation and reinforces strength. He takes adversity and enriches love. He takes grief and births compassion. He takes fear and grows courage. Year after year, He miraculously rebuilds my disorder after His order.
I would prefer that my motherhood already be in order; that it already be closer to perfection than it is now. I would prefer to avoid the random, disorganized life messes. Oh how I long to be like Him. I'm not anywhere near close. Still, He's teaching me He uses moments to mold years. I cannot always see how perfection is possible in the chaotic seconds or days. Still, its potential is slowly manifesting as the months and years take shape. I am not blind to the progress made possible through His grace. I have come so far as a mother, as a wife, as a woman, and I'm just getting started. The same is true for my children.
Childhood is mayhem. But childhood ends. They will continue to progress, mayhem notwithstanding, into and throughout adulthood. I will continue to progress, mayhem notwithstanding, throughout their childhood and adulthood. Somehow He's taking us; this crazy, chaotic mess, and building the foundation of eternity.
Raising four children is more miracle than I could ever hope to deserve; and sometimes, in my better moments, I realize the chaos that comes with it is still part of the rose. My life is full of children's laughter bouncing through the house, the pitter patter of little growing hands and feet, the occasional spark of transcendence juxtaposed with the overwhelmingly ordinary...
Oh.
And ice cream scoops under my pillow.
Thank you for sharing. Motherhood is an adventure unlike any other. I am grateful that my Heavenly Father is in charge. Thank you for reminding me of his love for me and my family. Thanks for sharing how you feel His love in your life admid the trials and every day struggles. Love you!
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