The Table

It's funny how a bout of the flu can freeze time. We've spent the morning cuddling, reading, singing, telling stories, and watching movies- all in our pajamas and with nary a care towards what time or day it is, and very little more towards the basket of towels that need to be folded or the dishes piled 3 feet high in the sink.

Cries of "Help! My poop is water and it's all over my chair!" aside, it has been rather nice.

I wish we could capture this kind of calm without the necessity of a sickness or snow storm. When did I forget the value of a day of rest?

Values. They are slippery beasts. You place them neatly in a row and then realize while you were distracted living they went ahead and re-ordered themselves into a new list. The ones that were meant for the top have slipped far enough down that you can't see them anymore and others that you placed very firmly at the bottom are apparently creeping upwards.

All of this is besides the point however, because what I really wanted to show off was my "new" kitchen table.

I spent a chunk of my labor day weekend painstakingly sanding our kitchen table and chairs down by hand (except the table top which got the electric sander treatment). It was just the kind of work I enjoy best, however, keeping me outdoors with hands busy and a mind free.

As I sanded bars and corners and seats and legs I prayed for the bums that would grace them. Now there is a value that I have placed very high on the list in my mind but tends to drop in the list that I'm living. I firmly believe in the power of prayer, and at least now I know that table is generously soaked in it. These are the things that matter.

The painting process required more concentration, and since it was performed late at night, in our garage, it made me a bit woozy besides. But when Josh had carried it back into the house I went over the entire surface with some wood wax, and another "protective coat" of prayer.

It struck me while I worked how very much of our lives revolve around this tiny room; how many of our conversations are held here. This in a very real way, could be called the center of our family; where at least some combination of us meet 3 or even 4 times every day. It's where we have our meals obviously, but its also where we entertain, where we home school, where we do crafts, its often my "desk" while I blog, or plan meals, or write thank you cards, or letters. It is most often where I read my bible.

I've never refurnished any furniture before, and honestly I'm not sure how long the paint will last. It may chip. I may regret that clean white after the 1,000th spill or 100th time it's been colored on or the 1,000,000th time I've wiped off handprints. But I cant say that I'll regret the time I spent working on it.

I find that I did a lot more then update the look.

Praying Without Cease

I've never been comfortable blogging about my faith. I read many wonderful and inspiring blogs written by Christian women...Evlogia, A Path Made Straight, Holy Experience... In a way I long for this blog to be as inspiring and wonderful. Lets face it, I long to be as inspiring and wonderful. But therein lies my problem. I long for it too much. And I have a difficult time, especially in this impersonal space, drawing a line between my faith and what it means to me and my faith and what it should mean to you, if that makes sense. Between sharing my heartfelt beliefs and shoving those beliefs down your throat. I also have a hard time telling the difference between heartfelt sharing of my beliefs and this very important part of my life, and...well...and vanity for lack of a better word.

I am a vain creature. Let's get that out there right from the get-go. I am as vain in my strengths as I am in my weaknesses. It is truly a sight to behold at times. And I have long struggled to keep my vanity from encroaching on this space. And so something very central in my life gets left out.

It seems wrong, however. And so I have been struggling lately.

I don't know if this means I will begin to blog about my beliefs and that part of my life, because really, it is all parts of my life in a way. Maybe I will find that balance. Where I can talk about it without being pushy, or unloving, or prideful.... It seems a tall order at the moment. But it also seems dishonest to leave it out so blatantly.

Who would I be without my unwavering belief in the ultimate control and goodness of an almighty God? Without my doubtless knowledge of having been redeemed and saved by the cross? Its the kind of thing that changes your outlook, for sure. It is central to everything I do and am. Honestly I hardly make sense without it.

I CAN share this bit of struggle:

Recently Josh brought up a clock his grandfather made from storage. It's a rather big one, that honestly I've never had much love for. But it sings the hours and Zeke has been so obsessed with the giant clock tower downtown we thought he'd get a kick out of it. I decided, since it would be constantly singing and reminding me, I would try to get into the habit of praying every hour as it chimed. "Praying without cease" if you will. I'll admit I've been rather enfatuated with the idea since I was a teenage and read Salinger's Franny and Zooey.

Now, I try, rather unsuccessfully, to spend time every afternoon in devoted prayer and bible reading. Josh and I try, also rather unsuccessfully, to read My Utmost for His Highest every evening. I'd rather not dwell on our exact success rates in this, they waver quite a bit but they are never all that impressive. Inserting God into our daily life, outside of mealtime prayers, has never been an easy habit for me and I thought this might help.

And praying with the chimes has actually been a really easy habit, but with a surprising effect. I've honestly hated it. First off, that clock chimes every 15 minutes, not every hour. Great, I at first thought, to be reminded of the Lord so often. But when I realized how often that thing chimed right in the middle of me being impatient with my children, or unforgiving to Josh, or unfair to a friend, or, or, or. Oh my the guilt. I started swearing to myself, ok, for 15 minutes...just for the next 15 minutes I wont do ANYTHING to be ashamed about.

I havent succeeded yet.

It's all been rather disheartening. And humbling. And maybe, after all, that is the point. The simple Jesus prayer, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner" has never meant so much to me. Even every 15 minutes is not apparently enough for this sinner. It hasnt been what I expected from it. I thought, so silly now that I dont even want to admit it, that I would feel BETTER about myself. How wonderfully wrong I was. I am going to keep it up.