If I am numbering gift moments to one thousand and now beyond--what moments in my life count as blessings? If I name this moment as a gift, grace, what IS the next moment? Curse? How do you know how to sift through a day, a life, and rightly read the graces, rightly ascertain the curses? (85)
and:
The world I live in is loud and blurring and toilets plug and I get speeding tickets and the dog gets sick all over the back step and I forget everything and these six kids lean hard into me all day to teach and raise and lead and I fail hard and there are real souls that are at stake and how long do I really have to figure out how to live full of grace, full of joy--before these six beautiful children fly the coop and my mothering days fold up quiet? How do you open the eyes to see how to take the daily, domestic, workday vortex and invert it into the dome of an everyday cathedral? (120-121)
I've felt for a long time that we Christians have the idea of "blessing" all messed up, and that we don't really get God's definition of Good. Need evidence? See: just about every person God calls blessed in the Bible has a life significantly marked by significant suffering.
So, a photo to lighten the mood:
This is where I talk about how excited we are about Aggie football! Or not, because, though I used to have a rather encyclopedic interest in college football, I stopped caring circa 1993. And the husband cares even less than I do. But Helena is excited about helmets!
Back to Voskampian thinking, I was grumbling about having to take the dog out into the back yard this morning after her precious twinkle toes discerned that it had rained most of the night (RAINED!!YES, it RAINED!!) and that means the Princess Dog of Delicate Sensibilities refuses to take care of her business all by herself. I was also feeling grumbly about the prospect of making today the big day of staying home and convincing Helena that the potty is far superior to the diaper. Then I looked up and saw a hummingbird trying to find nectar in one of our drought-starved, mostly dead oak trees. He was blurry and tiny and tenacious, flitting from one brown crumpled leaf to another.
The good news is that Helena wore Big Girl Underpants and stayed dry all day. Also, Harper and Hudson were super encouraging and excited (and LOUD) when she was successful--mostly because I told them they could have one of the little fruit gummy treats I was giving her. I decided to reward her for staying dry and not just for going to the potty, which she took very seriously. The not so great news is that she saved just about everything for the diaper I put on for her nap. I'm not one of those moms who trains in one fell swoop, mostly because I NEED Helena to continue to nap for 2-3 hours a day, and sleep for 12-14 hours at night, and I've heard many a tale of naps abruptly stopping with potty training. I'm pretty sure she is planning on saving most of her business for her night diaper and her nap diaper. We'll just deal with that at some future point. Perhaps with the next hummingbird sighting.
Meanwhile, I'll be looking towards the dome of this everyday cathedral. And also leaving dirty dishes in the sink until 11:04 pm. I should probably take care of those now.
4 comments:
I'm reading One Thousand Gifts right now, too. (I'm the same way with those zeitgeisty books.)
So many people have raved about the book, but I have issues with it. One, I can hardly wade through her writing as it is so not my style. Some people call it poetry. I call it "please get to the point." Anyways while I agree with being thankful, I feel uneasy while I read the book. Her theology seems off in places, but I've only read a few chapters. I'm not sure if I'll finish it though. Oh, those long drawn out metaphors.
I didn't mean to sound snotty in that last comment. I'm just not sure what I think about the book yet and want to know if others feel the same way.
Yes, from the few posts I've read on her blog over the years, I prefer her as a blogger than as a published author.
I'm reading One Thousand Gifts right now, too, and at times really love it and at times get frustrated by how long she takes to get there. Pushing through. (And I also feel like you and Robin about those "zeitgeisty" books.)
Just finished Townie, by the way, by Andre Dubus III. Haven't read any of his fiction, though I enjoyed some of his father's. Had to get through his growing up scenes of fights, ugliness, awful living to get to redemption. It was more satisfying in some ways, I thought, than Lit, though perhaps it was his description of turning his emotions toward the written word than through his fists. You might like it.
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