This week I had one of those days. Usually when I say 'those days', meltdowns, catastrophes, poop explosions and the like all come to mind....actually that's like most days.
But it was another type of day. The type where I used nap time for something other than Friday Night Lights. The type where I organized and cleaned out some stuff in the garage, took out the trash and folded clothes.
Now before y'all get too impressed and I get requests to write an efficiency tutorial, you should probably also know that we had cheese sticks and Spaghetti O's for supper. Although, I'm pretty sure that if it's Alphabet Spaghetti O's you get a pass. Just call it an educational experience.
So I was feeling pretty good about myself. It was actually the first really productive day I've had in a while. I feel like my post-baby gauge for productivity usually peaks at taking the smushed cheerio to the trash instead of eating it out of pure laziness.
I couldn't wait until Nate got home. I had it all planned out, I wasn't gonna say anything, just wait until he noticed the clean counter and trash on the tree lawn, and then give him that look out of the top of my eyelids (is that a thing?) and act all, "It's not a big deal. I can take care of two kids AND be ultra productive....I pull on my Wonder Woman tights just like everyone else".
And he sure was impressed. I even got a kiss on the mouth.
But here's the problem...as I lay there in bed, after all the work I planned out was done, and my heart was full with my husband's praise, all I could think about was the mess in my Dining Room, the groceries I am behind on buying, the meals I haven't planned and on and on and on.
And my heart sank. Because as great at the moment of value can be from clean dishes, dishes don't give grace. Seriously. Sometimes I think they dirty themselves as a joke on the frazzled housekeeper (and that's me if that wasn't clear).
When I center my worth on my productivity, all I'm left with is heartache.
And yet, my whole life it has been something. There's always something I want to orbit my life around instead of God.
But you can't sink enough jumpshots, lead enough bible studies, Pinterest enough crafts to fill you up.
My swept floors don't love me back. My job promotion can't sacrifice itself for me. My homemade baby food can't comfort me - there's NO life there.
It's amazing to look at that 'A' in the class you spent hours of your life on, but then your'e registering for another semester. You feel pretty spectacular after your toddler listened to you? Give it two minutes, and one denied request for gum and they will be publicly embarrassing you with their blood curdling screams.
I'm telling you from experience. I've tried to find the source of my life in a multitude of ways and I'm always left wanting.
Because it's all fleeting. ALL OF IT.
So this is my breakup song, Taylor style. I'm done with the things in my life that fail. I'm done placing my identity in things, orbiting my life around things that are found wanting.
Dishes make a lousy God. Actually pretty much only God makes a good God. Scratch that. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING makes a good God, but God.
Trust me. Or try to prove me wrong. Either way, I'd love to tell you how to know him.