Friday, April 15, 2016

Anatomy of a Good Day

Friday Afternoon.

I'm putting away the last of the schoolbooks for the last time this week. Folding that last load of laundry, straightening up the house, hoping that my gentle movements will coax another nap from the baby on my back.

 Outside, my kids are wild. Wild with sun-made vitamin D coursing through their veins, the glory of shoeless dashing about, how the swing feels at the very highest point and the joy of screaming at top volume without their mother losing her mind. The littles bring me fistfuls of blue flowers. Fiona comes in with a splinter. Dinah's stretched out under a tree with a book and an apple and the boys have turned every stick they find into a swashbuckling sword. Wild, I tell you.

Spring does that to us. Everything, everything feels and smells and is new. Even the mundane, every day things have a sort of new energy. We get up earlier and seize each day with gusto. Spring fever has infected us, one and all.

Yeah, we've had a couple of good days. Even as I type that, I'm aware that somewhere along this path, my definition must have changed. They haven't been seamlessly smooth, without wrinkle or hiccup or apologies, the way I used to think a good day must be. I'm over that. I no longer give myself passing grades for smooth and clean and devoid of interruption or mess. I no longer let it all hinge on how we measure up - as kids, as parents, as spouses. But even after I moved beyond this narrow definition of a "good day," I still struggled a bit.

For a while there, the label of "Good Day" would be adhered only when I could see concrete evidence of God's love. But you know how that is - it's always present. There is always something. Even on the darkest days, I could find it. Something pretty, or something special, or something small. Even when I wasn't feeling it at all, I could find it, pay lip service - yet still come up empty.  What is a good day anyway?

I have a new definition. A good day is one where my head knowledge goes a bit deeper. Yeah, pierces right there in my heart. A day where I not only know all's grace, but I reach out with open hands to accept it. It doesn't require perfection. It doesn't require completed checklists or health or kids who get along or me to not let my temper get the better of me.

A good day is not one where I can see the gifts like I'm looking through a screen, acknowledging their presence as a truth but held at an arms' length. A good day is one where I cradle them all close, in all their wild and wonderful ways, and know with a deep and abiding knowledge that drives deep into my heart that He is for Me. For Us. For-Ever.

Neat and tidy perfection could never hold a candle to the madcap marvel of a life lived with arms flung open in acceptance to all the ways He loves us.

It's Spring time here and I've got 7 pair of dirty feet about to trek back through the house I just swept clean. It's a good day.

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