This Technicolor Life


9B1A219A-F033-4EFD-A81E-CB1A1F3B9D19.jpgThe calendar on our refrigerator needs updating. To update it, I need time to cull all of our schedules and bring them into harmony – a harmony that will dance in front our eyes every time I gather food or fill my water cup this month.  The paper calendar looks empty right now, but it is far from it.  Soon, it will bleed technicolor. It will tell of all the many stories to be lived in the coming weeks –

Light Blue for baseball games, children’s choir performance, and end of year festivities
Green for church events and night-time meetings
Dark Blue for time with friends
Red for travel, graduation, birthdays
Orange for miles run
Black for meals to make

To live amongst it all is to ask our inner lives to line up within the designated tasks of the day. To live this technicolor life is to transition quickly from workday to family time. Child of God to Servant of God. Mother to Minister, and back again. Rising One to Settling One. Human Working to Human Being.

A heating pad warms my sore neck and shoulder this morning as I write this, waiting for the Advil to set in – collateral damage from a technicolor life. Ten days in, I am weary of the pain.  Outsiders tell me to slow down to tend my soul – as if the soul isn’t being tended at the ballfield, in the office, or over the skillet as children play outside.

This is motherhood and ministry.  To point the finger at the technicolor life is to blame this life.  And that does not tend my soul or credit my Creator who called me to live it… this same Creator who is able to tend me within the countless transitions.

The soul sings and stretches all day long.  It is the most significant part of my self, of this life.  It is the piece I cannot go a day or a moment without.

Our youngest has a long-held habit of turning his head in such a way as to get my attention. He locks eyes with me and with our shoulders facing each other, his eyes twinkle, and a big grin spreads across my face. It as if he knows that to slow down his mother is one of his greatest powers. My face relaxes, and I giggle, marveling at the way an ordinary moment can be pierced. His gaze transfigures the moment into an eternal moment that has been waiting patiently for our acknowledgment.

It is all beautiful – this technicolor life.
It is all worth the heating pad – these full, exhausting days.

I work, play, and rest
in the arms of a Savior,
in the gaze of a Creator,
with the restorative breath of a Sustainer.

“And I’m up too damn early in the morning
I can’t remember ever feeling so alive
And I need more fingers to count the ones I love
This life may be too good to survive”
– “St. Anne’s Parade” by Shovels and Rope

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