The Miraculous Mundane

There's something in my personality that seeks the rollercoasters of life.  I love extremes, and my emotions follow suit.  I can be perfectly content sobbing with a dramatic movie and  feeeeeeling with all of my being.  My highs are very high, almost manic (which makes me an awesome, fun mom), and my lows are so very low, melodramatic, depressive even.

I admire my even-keeled husband, but I have no desire to be him.  I enjoy my ups and down, feeling every note played on my heartstrings vibrating across my entire being.

The downside to this, however, is that I want my spiritual life to be just as dramatic as my emotional life.  Maybe God works that way with some people, but I think He knows I could simply write my relationship with Him off as just another experience that my emotion-junkie self can pick up and put down at will.

So I look for miracles in the mundane.  I listen for God's voice in my routine.

How is God manifested in boredom?  God is the Creator of the universe, the Everlasting One!  Surely He has better things to do than show up in the daily interactions of my children, my spouse.  He won't be found in mountains of laundry, piles of dishes, or grimy windows.  He's bigger...no, better than that!

But no.  I am coming to believe that the mundane is where God is the most active.  Yes, there are giant, miraculous events, like a loved one being brought back from death's door, or a person discovering a stranger has paid their mortgage.  It's easy to see God in the big events.

Spying God in the little things, the mundane, the every day is hard for me.  But I'm learning.  Listening.

Seeing His love and care when my four-year-old soothes her ten-month-old sister after a tumble.

Feeling His grace and forgiveness when I completely lose the plot in regards to parenting, and all five of my children surround me with platitudes, hugs, kisses, assurances of love, and promises that tomorrow is a new day, and I'll do better then.

Experiencing His providence through my sweet, over-worked husband, who day in and day out sacrifices his time at his job so that we don't have to give a second thought to our needs.  Everything is taken care of, from the home and vehicle maintenance to grocery shopping.

Watching my children deal with the messiness of life's emotions and relationships, often giving others the benefit of the doubt if feelings are bruised.

Having my heart both broken and swelling with pride when my eight-year-old son skips meals so he can take the time to pray for other children who do not have the luxury of food.

Overhearing my nine-year-old daughter read stories to her younger siblings and watching them all puppy-piled onto a bed or couch as they listen to the cadence of her grown-up girl voice, secure in the love of family.

Feeling the desire my children have for a relationship with us as parents, sensing the bifurcation of their desire to please us but also be true to their God-given personalities.

Being a vessel of service.  I have the privilege of lavishing love on the people in my life through my words and actions.   Like Christ washing the disciples' feet, I wash hands and faces (and clothes and dishes!), but mostly I see Christ's selflessness in my husband.  Together, we represent God's love and care to our children in our messy, mundane, miraculous existence.

 And isn't that where God lives?