Sleepy girl, padding up the hallway with a smile already playing on her lips. “Happy Birthday, to me,” she sings with a grin. Bold at first and then a little embarrassed. Pausing to see if we’ll all join in and rejoice with her.
I watch her and ponder. On the one hand she’s altogether confident and free. Enjoying the safety of being known and loved. Secure in our relationships. And, then, in the same instant, a nagging wonder passes over her face. She’s asking: “Am I truly safe? Is it OK for me to be excited that it’s my birthday? Are YOU excited that it’s my birthday? Do you like me?”
Later, I watch her do it again. We’re at school delivering birthday treats to classmates and favorite teachers. So excited and confident, she makes a mental list. Principal, a few special teachers. She scoots right up to them with delight. Then the nagging fear again: “Do you care that it’s my birthday? That I love M&M cookies and brought one homemade just for you? Maybe I should retreat a bit afterall.” Timid Maddie peeks out to see if it’s safe.
Of course, you and I both know that she’s not the only one asking those questions.
It’s a funny thing we do, isn’t it? Longing to be known and yet a little fearful that being known will mean being rejected. In time, most people learn to hide from those nagging questions. To pretend they’re not there or to overcompensate so that they’re not so loud in our hearts. We push them aside but we all know that they’re still there. Whether we’re 8 or 88, we’re still wondering: “Am I loved? Can I do something that would make you stop loving me? Is it OK for me to be silly or to let you see my true heart?”
As I celebrate her birthday today, I pray that my Maddie would settle the nagging questions. I know that Rick and I play a role in that settling process. As do friends and family. We can help her feel comfortable in her own skin.
But, in truth, what she really needs to know is that the One who made her adores her. The One who knit her together those nine months in my womb, He loves her. He knows her – every nook and cranny of Madison McKee is intimately known and loved by the Maker of heaven and earth. He paid the ultimate sacrifice so that all the junk could be removed and she could stand before Him whole. Unfettered relationship. Knowing and being known. He’s not some far away, cosmic force. He’s her God. He’s here, bending over her as she sings. Giving her gifts far better than any we could afford: peace, joy, purpose, rest. Abundance. Every good and perfect gift comes from above. He will answer the nagging questions. He’s truly the only One who can.
And, oh, that boy of mine. He approaches life with such passion and intensity. And, it shows. On his clothes. Some people can wear their jeans for a few days before a wash. Not my guy. Not the boy who MUST dive for the football at recess. Or climb under the shed when he’s playing hide and seek. Or roll through the mud while wrestling with his buddy in the leaf-strewn back yard.
How I scrub at those jeans. Day after day. Survival has forced me to learn the tricks. Fels Naptha for the grass stains. Spray cleaner for the other stains. Scrub brush and warm water for the mud. I’ve learned to keep his church jeans separate from the rest. And, I adore Sears for their Kidvantage program, for when the holes inevitably come. They always do. He never outgrows them first. The holey knees always come first. It’s been this way as long as I can remember – ever since his toddle morphed into a run. 
But, here’s where the challenge comes full circle: Can I find beauty in those muddy jeans? Could my cringe turn into a smile when I see him round the bend all muddy at school pick-up? Instead of wondering why he’s dirtier than all the other boys, could I encourage him to keep giving it his all? Is it so bad that he likes to throw his whole body into an impossible catch or an unlikely tackle? 
Each scrap represents an investment – them in me and me in them. A conversation or a perspective or a moment in time that shaped me. Sometimes through tears, sometimes laughter. Through various life stages, disappointments and challenges. Walking through the mess of life together, we were impacting each other.
I start the tea kettle, light a candle, and start the music. Peace washes over me as the simple piano notes weave their way around my heart. And, I rest. Nestled in the corner of our couch, sitting with my Lord. Sometimes I sit there for a long time. Just waiting for my heart to acknowledge Him. To really recognize that He is there. Other times a journal lies open and I pray. Seeking, petitioning, worshipping, asking. And, then there is the reading. Words breathed by the Maker of heaven and earth and written down in a great Book of hope. “Here it is, Shan. Here is what I want you to know. The most important mysteries of life – I recorded them here for you.” He has given it to us – grandest story of all time. I read and I glimpse His heart. Even just a glimpse and my heart is brimming with the fullness of it. The message of grace and hope that calls out to all of us.
Really, there are lots of ways to slow down. A weekend away. A hike through the bounty as the leaves change. A rich meal with dear friends. A meaningful conversation around a backyard fire. These all help us to pause. To rest.
Is it an understatement to say that sometimes things don’t turn out the way that we expect? Sometimes? Ha!
Maybe it’s just better when things don’t turn out as we expect. When our plans get foiled and we’re forced to take “second-best”. Just maybe.
And, do you know that with the air conditioning running, we never even heard or felt that train rush by anyway…
I was cooking up Maddie’s favorite meal: mac n’ cheese.
But, I think it’s really sort of a cruel joke. You see, I pride myself on meals made from scratch and secretly mock things like refrigerated cookie dough. (Sorry to you dear friends who use it. Now you know that I’m mocking you.) For goodness sake, I even whip my own cream most of the time. I like natural ingredients and make an attempt to avoid preservatives and boxed stuff. (Which, is not an easy task in modern-day America.)
Beds all rumpled and in need of making. Laundry piled high – waiting for the washing and the ironing. Peppers and corn still in their baskets – needing preserved before they start to go bad. The list goes on…
stumbling upon just the right scented candle (on the clearance rack at Pier One!).
And, what about me? Could my tasks be opportunities for conversations with God? As I iron Rick’s shirts could I talk to God about my husband, asking Him to give Rick wisdom as he leads our family and our church? As I make beds, could I pray for rest – both physical and spiritual? As I update chore charts, could I ask God to mold my kids into people that understand the value of hard work and responsibility? I’m not sure but maybe even the gunk in the oven could somehow be offered up to God in life-changing conversation…
It was like a feast for the senses. The whole adventure always made me think of “
But I’m convinced that it’s always there. In some form – whether in the internal or external realities. There is indeed ample reason for gratitude. 
