Is it really Monday again? The weekend was heavenly. The busyness, and the unexpected quiet of my husband’s presence beside me. Not just him, physically by my side . . . but mentally. Emotionally. Busyness and soul-quietness, all at once.
But the afterglow of the weekend fades and Monday morning startlingly jars us into gritty family life. The little one shuts a door, not knowing that her big sister has her hand in between the door and the door frame. And the pressure on Firefly’s fingers blows her top and she screams and wails and I run to the door to move the little one’s body away from the door in order to release Firefly’s fingers from between the hinge. I cringe. I thought I’d heard a crack. Her knuckles are indented and already swollen.
We go ahead and try to ice it. She screams louder. She’s never liked ice. She never seems to realize that we’re trying to help her when the ice pack makes its appearance. Its presence always seems to add insult to injury and her cries make our ears ring and our patience wears thin as she fights and screams against us.
None of us handle it well. We all sit on the couch, Firefly on my lap, squirming and combative, and the fault lines in each one of us quake and flinch and there’s no taking it back. Family fault lines tremble in the stressful moments and make themselves more than evident.
She moves her fingers. The swelling goes down and she begins her lighted smiles again.
Jonathan leaves for work through the back door. I don’t say goodbye. I make the fault lines deeper.
But He comes in those moments. I begin to believe that when the family ruts arise to the surface, that their very existence made evident is simply pure grace. Sometimes a smaller, stressful moment shines light on deeper rifts . . . deeper things that need addressed. And He comes in the Monday morning earthquakes, shifting familial, underlying tectonic-like plates, and healing is brought to the light of everyday life. This is when we have a choice.
When plates are shifted, we can try to smooth over the cracks and fissures with resentment and bitterness . . . a sort of stagnant form of “moving on” with life . . . or we can leave the cracks and fissures exposed, a hands-held-open sort of giving up, and ask Him to bring His healing.
Jonathan calls a bit later to check on her. We talk. We apologize. And we realize that we have some work to do and some prayers to pray. And there is grace in the seeing. In the not being blind to our faults. By His grace, the deeper ruts will heal and a Monday morning quake will bring a life’s worth of healing.
He is good.
#562 that it was just the door frame’s crack I heard
#563 grace in the seeing, a humbling in the knowing
#564 quick apologies
#565 that when we ask for wisdom, He will give it (James 1:5)
#566 that parenting keeps us on our toes . . . and our knees
#567 unexpected unity
#568 answers to a prayer I’m not even sure I prayed
#569 our small group’s wonderful potlucks
#570 a fun stretching
#571 painting with a friend
#572 swinging from a tall tree and long, pink ropes
#573 three nights in a row, eating with friends!
#574 sand in the sandbox
#575 sweeping the back porch
#576 weeding the flowerbed
#577 that there is delight in our work
#578 baby smiles
#579 married love
#580 warm summer sun
#581 her dancing on stage for first time
#582 sweet, pink flowers in a vase
#583 sore shins from a long, mountainous walk 🙂
#585 His undeserved Presence