In an unexpected but welcome break from subarctic temperatures in Missouri, the outdoors came to life. It was a very good day to take a short hike in the woods behind the house. With the dog bounding down the path, through brittle leaves that sounded like potato chips crunching, both humans and canine were content. Getting out is tough when the cold is so deep and dry that your breath doesn't have vapor when it leaves your mouth; it instantly dries up and is sucked out of your lungs and leaves you puffing. On this walk however, it was warm and the subtle greens tucked in around the mahogany browns and quiet shades of winter bark, promised a future where the world would awaken from it's deep sleep and once again be a fruitful place.
Fruitful is a word that I have been dwelling on all day. Mostly because housework that I had to do gave instant gratification. Sometimes getting everything in order makes me feel like I am wasting time though. Weird, huh? While a clean house enables me to ultimately be more creative, it is something I wish were not so repetitive. I never get to the actual creative process as I am too busy doing dishes or laundry. It makes me impatient with myself, or this life stage. I still have a kid at home and the other one recently moved out, who takes a bit of worrying over and managing even though he is not under my roof. Mothering seems like it will never end. Yeah-yeah, I know, it will all be over way too soon so I oughta enjoy it. The question is if fruitfulness can be measured in painting, essays, photographs, etc., or is it measure by the human hearts I have influenced? Perhaps fruitfulness shown in the hearts of my family, would be more personally fulfilling if they would stand up and cheer for the cleanliness and cookies and fresh bread that were produced today. Alas, there is no cheering section, just another pile of dishes left over from the baking spree. Still... the homemade snacks bring me satisfaction more than anything pulled out of a package ever could. I don't care if they are consumed quickly by my guys and gone in an instant. I like home made goodies too.
The remains of summer flowers stand in testament to a fruitful time. Like those summer flowers my kids will grow and leave behind only the memories of their childhoods. Will the never ending chores have provided the clean and pleasant home that they remember? Will baking cookies and bread remind them of the safe place where they started? Will it matter that I didn't make my artistic debut during the years they spent at home? Will I look back and truly experience no regret for the time I spent serving my family? Or will I always be wondering"what if"? I can honestly say there are few opportunities I have turned down to forward my career when I have had the chance. The day to day expectations of running a household has taken priority nonetheless. Which choice was right? I think I know that caring for my family will have eternal rewards. But I think about the parable of the servants who were entrusted with talents. The guy who got the most invested wisely and doubled his masters money. Servant number two did well also with a few less dinars in his pocket, but was praised anyhow. The scared servant who only had one bit of money hid it, and his master was pretty pissed about it and called him lazy.
I used to feel like the servant with the three talents, but over the years I thought that maybe I was the guy with two, and than finally the despised servant with only one, which he buried. I have wondered if I buried my talents in the ground of my home and children. However, I am not made with endless resources of energy to devote to my skills of photography, writing and art after a full day spent looking after hearth and home.
I wonder if God is pissed at me for burying my talents? I smell a lie somewhere in that thinking, but I know I need to talk to my pastor to get it straightened out.
It does not stop me from wanting to show you the cool stuff that God makes. In the middle of winter it is much easier to spot the small beauty. These Hen of the Woods mushrooms would be overshadowed by the lime greens of spring. They are special and deserve attention. I see them, they are brown and mossy, like me. I don't show up well amidst the showier individuals out there. Still, there is beauty in quiet. I hope God thinks so too. He likes humble and hates pride. Does he take extra special delight in this brave winter fungus? Does he take delight in my housework too?
Moss is small, but I learned that on a warm day, it will shoot up little spires almost instantly. As it basks in a little warmth it takes full opportunity to bloom and send out fresh spores to further populate the forest floor with it's beauty. Moss is tenacious and survives the most bitter cold while maintaining a lovely rich green. What a brave little plant. It thinks, "There is no time like the present", and is fruitful at every chance it can get. It makes no excuses, saying,"ooohh , it is so cold, how will I ever survive?" No, it waits patiently for a little bit of sunlight and encouragement and it takes off. I want to be more like moss.
Don't you love how God makes miracles that are such good teachers? His glory is available everywhere.
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