It isn’t in anything that he says.
The words are helpful, instructive, encouraging.
So why do I want to curl into a ball and weep all day?
When the snow comes, I am relieved. I watch out the window as frail flakes bump up against each other in the white of the sky. The wind drops into our little valley in angry rushing sweeps, banging about bits of life and causing me to grip my sides firmly.
I might blow away.
I fall asleep amidst this sound of branches bending and loose bits of the world swirling in the current. But it’s not a restful sleep and I am awakened at five a.m. by a nightmare. I check on my boy, make sure it was just a dream, light a candle, and go downstairs.
I sit before the wind with no words, listen to the howling and see glimpses of glitter blowing by—mirrored in the light of the snow.
I have no words, so I move to the couch, fall back to sleep with my face pressed between two cushions.
I am not allowed to stay in this sorry state long. The boys are home on a long weekend and I’ve taken the chance to schedule their well-visits with the pediatrician. Here I learn we are behind on vaccines. And my eldest still has those big holes in the top of each eardrum. And he can barely see out of his right eye.
The doctor shakes his head. And I feel my stomach drop. He tells me how, if one eye is stronger than another, the brain will shut off vision to the weak eye over time.
“Better get this taken care of soon,” he says.
And then he starts talking about surgery for the boy’s ears. Six shots and two flu mists later, we leave, armed with an order for blood work and a referral to a local optometrist. The boys want to go out to lunch, plead with puppy dog eyes.
“We’ve just had all these shots, mom.”
We get home in the afternoon and I do more laundry, try to write a little, someone has stopped up the toilet, and I’ve promised a friend to stop by to hold her beautiful new baby.
These are ordinary things. The stuff of life. And I know that when you want to be successful at something, the ordinary gets a bit left behind–you have to work hard and worry about branding and have a marketing strategy and sell yourself.
I know these things.
Don’t you? Don’t you know that when working on a dream you have to put the ordinary things in a different place for a while, make sacrifices, and step up to a different side of who you are?
Don’t you know?
Don’t you know that that dream you cradle requires stepping out of the ordinary…if only for a season?
It does. It’s true.
But don’t you—not even for one minute—don’t you believe that this is what defines you.
Who you are is in the ordinary moments. The ways you breathe in and out of the day. This is how they will remember you; this is your legacy.
And it’s a beautiful one. Sometimes that’s easy to forget when the dream looms large.
I want to weep when I listen to that voice—the one that says, “You will never be enough. You cannot do this thing you desire.”
Hear this, dear heart—hear this, my heart: You are enough.
You are enough because His grace is sufficient.
So don’t fight it. Live into each moment. Because, just as the brain needs help sometimes to steward vision best…sometimes the heart needs help to see too.
Grace is the best lens to look through.
And there is nothing ordinary about that.