Diapers, Dishes and Unmasking The Lie of Productivity
Greetings friends --
Last Friday I spent a few extra hours at the office dotting all my i's and crossing all my t's ensuring that I'd be able to take off all of this week. As I cleared my desk, set my out-of-office email response and voicemail, I could feel the weight of a very busy autumn at work falling from my shoulders.
I got in the car, started it, turned on the heat and let the engine warm. Chopin's nocturnes came on automatically when I plugged in my phone. The haunting beauty of those slow, fragile melodies filled the atmosphere. I closed my eyes for a minute and absorbed it, breathing the beauty, freedom and peace.
As I drove through the snow and dimming light of early evening in the Northwoods, I turned the gaze of my heart and mind homeward. Nine days with Stephanie, John Paul and James Henry lay before me.
My favorite thing in the world is getting to do life with Stephanie and the boys -- drinking coffee and praying early in the morning, cooking and eating meals together, reading books, exploring our little farm with toddler wonder and zeal, working on projects together in the garage, playing with the boys in Stephanie's Montessori playroom in the basement, reading countless books together while "snuggling on the couch" -- as John Paul says. Each day is infused with wonder, sacrifice and beauty, and countless moments of tender, joyful connectivity.
As these days stretched out before my peace-filled mind, I focused in on three tasks that I was eager to finish this week: a big wood-working project for the boys that I've been chipping away at for months, and a couple of home repair tasks. Finally, I would have the time to put these three things to bed. I breathed a contented sigh.
As a bit of context: I don't know about you all, but as projects like these go unfinished they gnaw at me daily. Every time I walk past them or think of them, a little voice picks at the scabs of my insecurity telling me how inadequate I am. "Why can't you ever finish your projects? All the other guys you know are super productive -- they manage to be good husbands and fathers AND they trim the trees, build their kids cool stuff, patch their roofs."
When I got home Stephanie and I blitzed the house and made a pot of chili; that night we hosted our young adults group. Our house was filled with friends, conversation, laughter and a happy throng of children. It was beautiful.
By 9:15pm the boys were asleep and the house was cleaned up. Life was good. I was ready to head out to the garage and let the octave of productivity begin. I was going to seize control of life and get things done.
I was going to but, God in His providential love and wisdom had other things in mind, namely His continued campaign for my heart.
At 9:45pm we heard a primal, urgent wailing coming from JP's bedroom. We went in and discovered a terrified two and a half year old and a crib full of vomit. Four days and a brutal family-wide bout of norovirus later, none of my projects are done.
But that's OK. Actually, it's more than OK -- it is good.
I wonder if I weren't so obstinate in my pride and insecurity, God might use less painful teaching methods. Nevertheless, broken as I am, He continues to use the pedagogy of puke to open the dark corners of my heart and teach me to trust in His love in ways that peace, calm and proficient, worldly productivity never could. No, for me, the way forward is St. Therese's 'Little Way' of daily sacrifices, childlike, confident trust in the loving Fatherhood of God and simple responses of faith, hope and love.
Four days into cooking, doing dishes, changing diapers, consoling disconsolate toddlers, telling innumerable stories, and reading and rereading our entire collection of juvenile fiction, the Lord has used me in ways infinitely more significant than finishing my projects. In light of eternity, no one is going to remember, let-alone care, if I finished any of my projects. But my family will know that I cared for them and did my best to be utterly present and available to them and their needs.
For me, there is no substitute for the opportunities of sacrifice present in parenthood. We are set free when we die to ourselves, our own desires, our preferences and lay down our lives for others with sincerity: not begrudgingly willing the good of the other, but delighting in it, choosing it for its own sake -- be it a diaper, a 10th reading of Little Blue Truck Christmas, a trip to the sandbox in the basement, a 3am tuck-back-in. That was the gift I was able to give this week, but even more so that was the gift that I was able to receive.
The ecstatic beauty of the Chopin nocturne wasn't portending hours of peaceful productivity in the workshop. No, it was a taste of the peace of domestic bliss Stephanie and I were able to enjoy amidst the chaos of cranky, snotty, gassy toddlers, our own disastrous digestional tracts, and a week of unfulfilled expectations. It hasn't been perfect -- don't get me wrong -- there were moments of weakness. But it has been good. How so?
This summer Stephanie and I wrote and committed to a family motto:
"In all things may I choose joy, peace, love, sacrifice and Christ."
The past four days we said our motto together as a family at breakfast -- including John Paul echoing the words back to us -- and prayed for the grace to live it. We held each other accountable to it and checked in at the end of the day. And, what incredible unity and fruit it has born.
My projects are still awaiting completion, but the most pressing project, the softening of my heart and the deepening of my trust and love, took baby-steps forward. Blessed be God!
Last Friday I spent a few extra hours at the office dotting all my i's and crossing all my t's ensuring that I'd be able to take off all of this week. As I cleared my desk, set my out-of-office email response and voicemail, I could feel the weight of a very busy autumn at work falling from my shoulders.
I got in the car, started it, turned on the heat and let the engine warm. Chopin's nocturnes came on automatically when I plugged in my phone. The haunting beauty of those slow, fragile melodies filled the atmosphere. I closed my eyes for a minute and absorbed it, breathing the beauty, freedom and peace.
As I drove through the snow and dimming light of early evening in the Northwoods, I turned the gaze of my heart and mind homeward. Nine days with Stephanie, John Paul and James Henry lay before me.
My favorite thing in the world is getting to do life with Stephanie and the boys -- drinking coffee and praying early in the morning, cooking and eating meals together, reading books, exploring our little farm with toddler wonder and zeal, working on projects together in the garage, playing with the boys in Stephanie's Montessori playroom in the basement, reading countless books together while "snuggling on the couch" -- as John Paul says. Each day is infused with wonder, sacrifice and beauty, and countless moments of tender, joyful connectivity.
As these days stretched out before my peace-filled mind, I focused in on three tasks that I was eager to finish this week: a big wood-working project for the boys that I've been chipping away at for months, and a couple of home repair tasks. Finally, I would have the time to put these three things to bed. I breathed a contented sigh.
As a bit of context: I don't know about you all, but as projects like these go unfinished they gnaw at me daily. Every time I walk past them or think of them, a little voice picks at the scabs of my insecurity telling me how inadequate I am. "Why can't you ever finish your projects? All the other guys you know are super productive -- they manage to be good husbands and fathers AND they trim the trees, build their kids cool stuff, patch their roofs."When I got home Stephanie and I blitzed the house and made a pot of chili; that night we hosted our young adults group. Our house was filled with friends, conversation, laughter and a happy throng of children. It was beautiful.
By 9:15pm the boys were asleep and the house was cleaned up. Life was good. I was ready to head out to the garage and let the octave of productivity begin. I was going to seize control of life and get things done.
I was going to but, God in His providential love and wisdom had other things in mind, namely His continued campaign for my heart.
At 9:45pm we heard a primal, urgent wailing coming from JP's bedroom. We went in and discovered a terrified two and a half year old and a crib full of vomit. Four days and a brutal family-wide bout of norovirus later, none of my projects are done.
But that's OK. Actually, it's more than OK -- it is good.
I wonder if I weren't so obstinate in my pride and insecurity, God might use less painful teaching methods. Nevertheless, broken as I am, He continues to use the pedagogy of puke to open the dark corners of my heart and teach me to trust in His love in ways that peace, calm and proficient, worldly productivity never could. No, for me, the way forward is St. Therese's 'Little Way' of daily sacrifices, childlike, confident trust in the loving Fatherhood of God and simple responses of faith, hope and love.
Four days into cooking, doing dishes, changing diapers, consoling disconsolate toddlers, telling innumerable stories, and reading and rereading our entire collection of juvenile fiction, the Lord has used me in ways infinitely more significant than finishing my projects. In light of eternity, no one is going to remember, let-alone care, if I finished any of my projects. But my family will know that I cared for them and did my best to be utterly present and available to them and their needs.For me, there is no substitute for the opportunities of sacrifice present in parenthood. We are set free when we die to ourselves, our own desires, our preferences and lay down our lives for others with sincerity: not begrudgingly willing the good of the other, but delighting in it, choosing it for its own sake -- be it a diaper, a 10th reading of Little Blue Truck Christmas, a trip to the sandbox in the basement, a 3am tuck-back-in. That was the gift I was able to give this week, but even more so that was the gift that I was able to receive.
The ecstatic beauty of the Chopin nocturne wasn't portending hours of peaceful productivity in the workshop. No, it was a taste of the peace of domestic bliss Stephanie and I were able to enjoy amidst the chaos of cranky, snotty, gassy toddlers, our own disastrous digestional tracts, and a week of unfulfilled expectations. It hasn't been perfect -- don't get me wrong -- there were moments of weakness. But it has been good. How so?
This summer Stephanie and I wrote and committed to a family motto:
"In all things may I choose joy, peace, love, sacrifice and Christ."
The past four days we said our motto together as a family at breakfast -- including John Paul echoing the words back to us -- and prayed for the grace to live it. We held each other accountable to it and checked in at the end of the day. And, what incredible unity and fruit it has born.
My projects are still awaiting completion, but the most pressing project, the softening of my heart and the deepening of my trust and love, took baby-steps forward. Blessed be God!
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