Spending Hiatus:What I Seek Is What I Have
Lent is more than halfway through. Geoff gave up internet news. Benicio gave up asking for toys. Geoff happily shrugs when I ask if Barack is getting slandered. Benicio marched the Target circular right into the recycling bin. One of my low-points was getting a vicarious buzz while I spoke to Maggie while she was at Anthropologie. A little too interested in the contents of the sale racks was I.
More than not, though, I have been blessed by my Lenten resolution. I feel like I have been re-given the gift of my home. "To dust you shall return," the minister said on Ash Wednesday. This past week, Geoff did demolition on our first floor bathroom in order to rebuild it. On the two days that he did this, a fine layer of dust has settled in and on places as high as the third floor hallway and as obscure as inside the kitchen cupboards. We have mopped more than three times. I have kept the feather duster at my hip like a holster. The dust is everywhere. I cannot help to face our transience, our impermanence when I am dusting. This will all be dust-- from the quilt set from India I want to the photo of my Mom and I when I was 2, all of my writing, all of it will be gone one day! What is that verse that says "what moth and rust shall destroy?" Wow, so heartening and upbeat, I know.
When I am not fondling price tags at the Gap or wishing away the hours online at Miniboden or for that matter, scouring our local junk shop, there is a part of me that comes to life. This different part who is good at unearthing the home in my home. This Lenten season, I found myself reading the boys' early doctor's records-- Benicio's cord stayed attached the longest and Manny's over-active gag reflex really had me worried. The other day, I labeled every drawer in the girls room-- a drawer just for camisoles, tiny girl camisoles more than a dozen! My thoughts return to Edith Schaeffer who writes about how the home is not just a place but it is an environment, a habitat in which the family's souls thrive. There is beautiful simplicity in cutting apples for my kids, in making our bed again, in pulling sheets from the dryer. Each day awaiting the tulips we planted back before Clara's birthday. Your home is your zone, the tribal stead, the touchstone for your kids. The x and y axis for the marriage.
Since I have pressed "pause" on all my great quests, there is more space in my daily intention. Instead of planning my morning around a trip to Target, I have tried to reach out to meet a friend. Instead of zooming in at the Orla Kiely bags online, Ames gave me a robust tutorial on how to pack the perfect purse. Maggie also came over got down and dirty with our pantry. My session with her taught me, counter-intuitive to me-let it all run out. Buy what you will use. Use it all up. When the shelves in the pantry have space, you can see what you have. I am beginning to get it now, when the shelves in your heart have space, you can see, heart completely aflood with gratitude, exactly what it is that you do have.
More than not, though, I have been blessed by my Lenten resolution. I feel like I have been re-given the gift of my home. "To dust you shall return," the minister said on Ash Wednesday. This past week, Geoff did demolition on our first floor bathroom in order to rebuild it. On the two days that he did this, a fine layer of dust has settled in and on places as high as the third floor hallway and as obscure as inside the kitchen cupboards. We have mopped more than three times. I have kept the feather duster at my hip like a holster. The dust is everywhere. I cannot help to face our transience, our impermanence when I am dusting. This will all be dust-- from the quilt set from India I want to the photo of my Mom and I when I was 2, all of my writing, all of it will be gone one day! What is that verse that says "what moth and rust shall destroy?" Wow, so heartening and upbeat, I know.
When I am not fondling price tags at the Gap or wishing away the hours online at Miniboden or for that matter, scouring our local junk shop, there is a part of me that comes to life. This different part who is good at unearthing the home in my home. This Lenten season, I found myself reading the boys' early doctor's records-- Benicio's cord stayed attached the longest and Manny's over-active gag reflex really had me worried. The other day, I labeled every drawer in the girls room-- a drawer just for camisoles, tiny girl camisoles more than a dozen! My thoughts return to Edith Schaeffer who writes about how the home is not just a place but it is an environment, a habitat in which the family's souls thrive. There is beautiful simplicity in cutting apples for my kids, in making our bed again, in pulling sheets from the dryer. Each day awaiting the tulips we planted back before Clara's birthday. Your home is your zone, the tribal stead, the touchstone for your kids. The x and y axis for the marriage.
Since I have pressed "pause" on all my great quests, there is more space in my daily intention. Instead of planning my morning around a trip to Target, I have tried to reach out to meet a friend. Instead of zooming in at the Orla Kiely bags online, Ames gave me a robust tutorial on how to pack the perfect purse. Maggie also came over got down and dirty with our pantry. My session with her taught me, counter-intuitive to me-let it all run out. Buy what you will use. Use it all up. When the shelves in the pantry have space, you can see what you have. I am beginning to get it now, when the shelves in your heart have space, you can see, heart completely aflood with gratitude, exactly what it is that you do have.
posted by Maria at
11:02 PM
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