Minimalism: Holy Time

In a group where I study the Bible, I wondered out loud how you choose for God in the small things of daily life, since that's where we get ready for big things. And a thoughtful man said, "Well how often do you know what you should do, and just not want to do it? I face that all the time." Huh. I'd never thought of what I believed I should do next being a divine appointment. But I do think there's potential to show love in everything we do, whether it's a pat on the shoulder after helping a child with their jacket or laying in the wet, spitting snow, trying to change a tire for the woman you love. And if there's a space where love is, God has to be there. A holy space.

How Leo tells me the house is cold...
Also how I felt when I saw snow.

Brian experienced the latter today. On the second day of spring, we woke to snow. I headed to the gym to catch a yoga class and caught a nail on the way. It didn't bother us on the way there, but while I was trying to get my zen on, it let all the air out of my tire. I didn't see it, since it was on the passenger side, but I heard it when I crossed the street to the library. Once inside the library, I called Brian. He said he could come. He threw gym clothes over his dress clothes and worked and worked. The first jack broke and the second worked, but when he got the tire off, the spare refused to come off the bottom of the van. Snow was still spitting. He'd ditched his wet gloves so now his hands were numb. 

I read stories to Cadence and Chandler, all warm and feeling terrible about what Brian was facing. We eventually took Brian's car, with the tire in the trunk to get it replaced. As we drove away from our jacked up van, I wondered what was going through his mind. I glanced at him, sideways when Cadence asked if he was okay. He said, quite cheerfully, "I'm cold, but I'm okay." 

Wow. What a guy. And I think, "This is holy." His sweatshirt all wet on one side, studded with gravel. His hands red on the steering wheel. I said, "Thank you for helping me. I don't know what I would've done." He just smiled and the places around his eyes actually crinkled. I also said, "This is when, PMS, hormones, carrying babies aside, I'm so glad I'm not a man and that I have one to help me." 

My tasks have been more mildly hateful. Calling about insurance quotes. Calling to understand a credit card charge. But they're things I'd put off before my strict To Do list following. Back in my, "That doesn't sound fun...suddenly task number 47 seems urgent," days. It's easy right now, because I'm trying something new...something I think might be better. And tomorrow, I think it might be easier because I like it. I like not dreading tasks. I like not feeling guilty because I should, but I'm not. I like facing my fears before they grow into monsters. Procrastination does that too me. The avoided task gets bigger and meaner every time I graze past it on the list. There's no time for this when I don't debate. If that's the thing I want done, I do it and the simplicity is refreshing.

There is a side effect I don't like. My number of flagged (deal with this later) emails has doubled. Since that's my most "honorable" form of procrastination (taking care of online business), I'm realizing I'll have to put this on my list at some point. I'll figure it out, but I've gotten some serious stuff done. I pulled the kids' spring/summer clothes out and went through them. Made my spring shopping list. Before you get too impressed, it started with an Easter clothes shopping trip to Target and a gulp when we checked out. Suddenly, I was motivated to see if we had a cardigan that still fit from last year, etc. Still, who knows if I would've taken the time to complete the task if my day had been spliced into pieces with frequent email monitoring. 

Because I turn my phone off during home school, I've been getting a feel for other times when splicing isn't appropriate. I'm learning to let texts and phone calls wait five minutes, when what I'm doing has a better chance of being done with love if I'm not interrupted. Like talking to a salesperson (I swear they're from another planet) or teaching shoe tying. Some love is fun to give and some is harder, thanks to my obsession with how I'd rather things were right now. Until God takes that speck out of my eye, any love I share is pure triumph. It's God swooping down and taking my hands and showing me how. It's holy.