Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Holy Easter Egg Hunt

Confession, sometimes Claire is not easy to love.  I wish I could say that I have a heavenly storage tank of the stuff built up and the angels just filter it down to me on an as needed basis.  But seriously, how do we choose to be joyful in suffering?

Often I feel like a total failure.  It creeps back to me after something has gone well.  For Claire, with every goal we reach there is a new goal to be set.  The never ending list of things "a tipical child is doing at this age" is insurmountable.  I was having a conversation yesterday with a sweet friend about this very thing.  She asked me how I keep it all balance and I totally copped out on the question, sorry Marry Timm.   

I believe that hidden in all the mundane chores of life there are treasures waiting for us.  Sounds silly, but that's what gets me through.  God got up first and set out an Easter egg hunt for me.  Now that sounds a little blasphemous but if you'll forgive me my point is that God has a plan for Claire and for me every moment of every day not just for eternity. 

I love this poem and I wish I wrote it but can't take the credit.



holy is the dish and drain
the soap and sink, and the cup and plate
and the warm wool socks, and the cold white tile
showerheads and good dry towels
and frying eggs sound like psalms
with bits of salt measured in my palm
it’s all a part of a sacrament
as holy as a day is spent

holy is the busy street
and cars that boom with passion’s beat
and the check out girl, counting change
and the hands that shook my hands today
and hymns of geese fly overhead
and spread their wings like their parents did
blessed be the dog, that runs in her sleep
to chase some wild and elusive thing

holy is the familiar room
and quiet moments in the afternoon
and folding sheets like folding hands
to pray as only laundry can
i’m letting go of all my fear
like autumn leaves made of earth and air
for the summer came and the summer went
as holy as a day is spent

holy is the place i stand
to give whatever small good i can
and the empty page, and the open book
redemption everywhere i look
unknowingly we slow our pace
in the shade of unexpected grace
and with grateful smiles and sad lament
as holy as a day is spent

and morning light sings “providence”
as holy as a day is spent.

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