An Open Book

Little Things

Zechariah 4:10

Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin. (NLT)

Sometimes, it’s the little things. When my baby cries at the hour she normally sleeps. When surprise fevers come on sunny days with prior plans. When my, ‘Perfect Mommy’ façade crumbles into, ‘Wait, is this just life now?’ Little things, but they make me doubt. I doubt I’m a halfway decent mother. I doubt what I’m doing really matters. I doubt I even know what I’m doing most days.

Don’t get me wrong; I always knew becoming a mother would mean being selfless. I thought I was generally selfless already, until I had less time, less money, and less attention paid to my self. Every day still, I’m learning how selfish I can be, and it’s hard. I mean, these are my kids, and my husband; if there’s anyone I want to pour my time out for, or pour my love into, or serve selflessly, these people are the ones. So when I find how narrow my limits fall, the ever finite failings of my love, I’m frustrated with me.

I think about how God didn’t spare even His only beloved child. While I was yet His enemy, an unrepentant sinner, He poured His everything out for me.

Man, I want to be like that… right up until naptime. Then I want quiet. I want to sit alone, and usually think about me. So I get the baby to sleep, and I take the kids upstairs for quiet time, but the toddler trips on the first step and screams. The baby wakes up screaming. I kind of feel like screaming, too. Little things.

Then I remember I’ve been loved by Jesus through my temper tantrums, which I still throw all too often. So this one moment I choose Him. I sit and hold my little one; I speak calming words to soothe her view of the world. I speak comfort, and love. My older kids drape their arms around us both. The baby finds her quiet again, and slips back into sleep.

Sometimes it’s the little things.

My husband and I have four daughters. We didn’t intend to, well, not in the beginning. We thought we might have two or three children back to back, and then stop so we could retire early. Within the first few years after our first daughter was born, it became clear I wasn’t getting pregnant again: then I did. Our first two came four years apart. Not quite the plan, but we are fairly flexible people. A few years later I figured two was the magic number, and a couple of years after that, it was four. We were surprised to suddenly double our family, and exhausted, and pushed beyond our comfort zone, and blessed beyond our measure. People started saying things to me like, “You know they’ve figured out what causes pregnancy now, right?”

I do know. In the immortal words (because I never let them die) of Joaquin Phoenix from the movie Signs, “It felt wrong not to swing.”

When we went from two to four, life changed. I became concerned with the Peter Principle. I remember that well from the days I went to work in nice shoes and clean clothes. (It’s true; before momhood, my work clothes started and stayed clean. I can barely picture it now.) According to the Peter Principle, everyone gets promoted to their level of incompetency. You succeed at your position through promotions until you get promoted to a position in which you can no longer succeed. Having two children spaced four years apart was smooth, clean, and generally orderly.

Having four kids at all ages is chaos.

Uh-oh. Did I pass my level of competency?

Is the house a mess? Often.

Do I still wear makeup? Wait, do I still own makeup?

Do I find snacks under the carseat I don’t remember feeding to the kids?

Uh-oh.

Did the kids eat something nourishing today? Yeah, they were pretty well fed. Did they learn something valuable? Let’s hope it sticks. Did they get a ton of love? Yes.

My daily assessments reflect my shifting priorities, or perhaps, my refined priorities. I think of each child: uniquely marvelous. My eldest is a wise old soul, quick with truth and wisdom and insight beyond her years, always in the middle of a good book, and always ready to be kind to those who need it. My six-year old is quick-witted and clever, full of humor and creativity, and a natural-born storyteller with deep well of a heart. My two-year old, who is already as expressive as anyone else in the house, is a total class clown. She speaks in long sentences that none of us understand yet, which gives the impression she isn’t a toddler, just a short foreigner learning our language and customs. She’s quick to kiss anyone’s boo-boos, though she’s usually caused them. She bursts into giggles over the slightest insinuations of ‘Butt-Burps’ (a phrase my eldest coined in her early years). Our youngest, only five-months old now, is the most agreeable baby we’ve had yet. She sleeps well, plays well, and watches us from the command center of her Exersaucer like she’s always wondering just what kind of family she’s joined. It’s a fair question.

I watch in awe most days as their identities bloom. I watch them grow and take shape. Would I trade one of them for a cleaner, quieter house? That’s a ridiculous question.

Would I trade my minivan for a tiny unicycle? That’s easier to maintain.

It’s also a lot less valuable.

The lives I’ve been gifted have more value than anything else ever entrusted to me. They’re more valuable than any other enterprise I’ve ever undertaken. Everything else I do in my life can be undone by time. Any money I make will be spent by strangers long after I’m gone. Anything I build can crumble, or be demolished, and will in time.

These four souls God formed in me, using my very flesh, are immortal. No matter how long eternity stretches, so will they. When I think God used material from my husband and me to form four distinct, unique human beings, it starts to look like a miracle. The Peter Principle starts to look like weaker priorities, or at the very least, the wrong Peter.

Maybe the Peter Principle I should be thinking about is closer to this:

“On this rock, I will build My church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” (Matthew 16:18, ESV)

Because it’s the little things God uses to build His great things.