Ok, I have mucho to write about the big 0-1, the first birthday celebration. I am in awe of this girl growing before me and still savoring memories of the baby she was (ok, still is somewhat...I look hard, but she's there), but am loving my days spent with this learning, growing, helping, recognizing, talking, walking child. I find I enjoy her more and more every day--I am constantly amazed at how love really does grow and your heart really does make more and more room for love, joy and affection.
But today I came across two great spiritual-esque lessons I would be sad to leave undocumented.
We recently put in new floors. Our 7-year-old home had been pleading with me to get rid of the original carpet so we (Rory) put in wood laminate style flooring. We love it! But I have to tell you, it feels dirtier. I actually second-guess my house-cleaning skills much more often with the sleek, no-where-for-the-dirt-to-hide-flooring. I will clean it, sweep and mop and pick up after us and then in no time, there the dirt (or dog hair in our case) will be! This is somewhat maddening. But I realized today what this floor is--it's my life. The carpet worked fine, really it did. Sure it was fairly old, but it still had shape and color and a good shampoo kept it looking pretty good. It also did something else--it hid. Everything. Dog hair, dirt, even small bugs could get lost in the fibers. Not so with the laminate. Here, my friend, we lay it all out--the yuck, the stunk, the messy collective shaggy and staticy dog hairs. And this is my life--I could "keep the carpet" and never truly know how messy I am. Or I could rip that sucker out and let everything get full exposure. I'll admit it's more work. But I am also confident that it's a lot more clean. And this is my (and our family's) life modus operati to lay it out, and ideally let the Good Cleaner go in with the swiffer and make us shine!
This other analogy actually brought tears to my eyes. While I was cleaning said flooring this morning, I started out just using a washcloth from the sink to scrub some particularly yucky spots on our kitchen tile. And like a mouse with a cookie, I ended up scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing. Suffice to say, the formerly white washcloth was now several shades of dirty. I left it in a corner while I swept and swiffered other areas of the house, telling myself to just put it in the dirty clothes straightaway so that Dia wouldn't get to it. Which, of course, I didn't do. After some cleaning and straightening around the house I came back to the kitchen where Dia was rubbing that washcloth on her legs and holding tight to her chest and then head as if she were a queen with a crown. And for a split-second the Lord held off my inner germaphobe and said, "See that! Your child loves you so much she will hold and cradle even your dirty rags. She has no fear of your yuckiness but only wants to be so close to anything and everything you touch--so much so, that your filthy washcloth is like a fancy crown." And then He said, "Can you do that with My dirty rags? Can you hold even the filthy cloth as if it were a jewel simply because I touched it?" And I seemed to understand that He meant I should not be afraid of His dirty work. I should instead run to even the dirtiest of rags simply because He touched them! So that anything He touches becomes instantly dear to me--even a dirty old washcloth. Do I sit at his feet and even glow with pride to touch His dirty old rags as Dia did with mine? God uses this beautiful lovebug to teach me a lot.
I also killed two scorpions and made a funky soup. So you know, just another day in the Starks' household!
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