Do I Part to the Right or the Left?

Do you ever have days when something just doesn’t feel right?  Days when things seem just a little bit off?  Days when you review, over and over, in your head what you must have forgotten, left undone, or missed so you can right the wrong so that all can be right in the world again? 

I had a day like that on Wednesday.  The day started like any other day.  I woke up, I ran, I fixed breakfast for three little ones, I got the kids ready for school, got myself ready for the day. . . blah, blah, blah.  Same old, same old.  Nothing seemed out of place and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what was off. 

It almost felt like something was backwards.  Something wasn’t lining up and I just couldn’t put my finger on it.  I couldn’t figure it out, that is, until around noon when I glanced into the bathroom mirror and noticed that something didn’t look right.  After about 20 seconds of close inspection I realized what it was.  I had parted my hair on the wrong side. 

Apparently after 35 years of parting my hair to the right, this particular Wednesday I decided to part my hair to the left.

I text my sister immediately:  I parted my hair on the wrong side today.  Who does that?
Her response was immediate: Probably someone who puts mashed potatoes in her pantry.
There you have it. 

This is only one of many humorous (or disturbing) stories that occurred this week.  Stories which only add evidence to what some might refer to as, my declining mental capacity.  I asked Chad today (after a different such incident) do you ever worry that I’m losing my mind?  He didn’t miss a beat before responding, Oh, no, you lost it long ago. 

We laughed because, in all reality, I think it’s just our season of life.  We are so often rushing from one thing to another that our brain can barely keep up.  This is the season we are in.  As my MIL often says, if I didn’t laugh at myself, I’d cry.

It’s true, we are often running so fast that we forgot to take real care to double check our hair or make sure that the potatoes are in the refrigerator rather than the pantry.  There are days when I only shave one leg or only one eye gets eyeliner.  In all reality, I’m not certain that these things are vitally important our overall satisfaction and success in life.

I think the picture has to be bigger.

Just the other day, the girls and I took our first trip to the library in our new community.  Next door there was a park and we stopped for a bit.  While the girls played together I took a deliberate step back.  From a distance, I watched as they laughed and played and pretended. 

I was astonished at how standing several feet away from them, almost out of ear shot, provided me a different view.  Not a visual view, but a perspective.  Watching them from far back it was easier to see how big and yet small they are.  How innocent and yet wise they are. 

Stepping back those few feet allowed me to see that, even amongst the chaos, this is such a beautiful season of life. 

It reminded me of the words I read in Donald Miller’s awesome book. . .

“What I’m saying is I think life is staggering and we’re just used to it.  We all are like spoiled children no longer impressed with the gifts we’re given–it’s just another sunset, just another rainstorm moving in over the mountain, just another child being born, just another funeral. . .

. . .

If I have a hope, it’s that God sat over the dark nothing and wrote you and me, specifically, into the story, and put us in with the sunset and the rainstorm as though to say, Enjoy your place in my story.  The beauty of it means you matter, and you can create within it even as I have created you.

I’ve wondered, though, if one of the reasons we fail to acknowledge the brilliance of life is because we don’t want the responsibility inherent in the acknowledgement.  We don’t want to be characters in a story becasue characters have to move and breath and face conflict with courage.  And if life isn’t remarkable, then we don’t have to do any of that; we can be unwilling victims rather than grateful participants.” 

I think that’s the bigger picture.  Writing our story, living our story, and being participants in the unfolding story that is right before us. 

I want to be enamored with life.

I want to be captivated equally by the beautiful moments. . .

And the ordinary ones. . .

I don’t ask questions. . .

I love what Donald wrote in his book about how we are to enjoy our place in God’s story. . . and create within it.  I read in those words that the skies are the limit and that opportunity for growth is everywhere. 

It’s reminds me of the days long ago when I would read Nancy Drew books.  I remember opening those first pages and getting lost in the story.  I remember how each chapter got more and more interesting.  More and more exiting.  I remember how I anxiously anticipated the book ending–the solved mystery.  And while I was excited to read that final page, I was always aware of the importance of each and every chapter.  The story as a whole is what mattered. . . not the final pages.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that, despite my imperfections and mental lapses, I am learning more and more ever day is that the big picture matters.  That even with the hard days and the daily struggles, life, in all it’s stages, truly  is remarkable.

And if I am unable to teach them anything else. . .

. . . I hope it’s that.

Oh, and in case you were wondering about my hair. . . I kind of liked the part on the other side and I did it again
today.  Look at that. . . 35 years old and still learning. 

Happy Weekend, Friends.