

Four Sons. Everyday Spillage. Mopping up the meaning in life.



It’s a kid’s version of winning the lottery. This week, extreme cold iced the streets, froze our breath, and closed the schools. When the scrolling text on the bottom of the television screen finally announced “Teller RE-2, CLOSED” my sons all smiled and exhaled a relieved, “Yesss!” The lottery was won. Homework halted. It was freedom for a day at our house.
Snow days magnify overlooked parts of a regular day. School is cancelled and suddenly the house feels a little warmer inside. The snow gleams a little brighter. Unused sleds regain their downhill fun factor. Dry hot chocolate that’s gone untouched in the pantry for weeks now steams in hot milky mugs. Granted, too many snowbound days and cabin fever starts to wear down the joy. That’s for sure. But, on a single and unexpectedly “cancelled” day, the gift of open time makes ordinary things extraordinary.
Army Blocks. On our last snow day, long-forgotten plastic army guys started knocking to be let out of their dusty box. Our 20 year old bucket of simple wooden blocks came shuffling out of hiding. And a full arena of Capture the Flag appeared on the floor. A toy story war unfolded in the living room.
And, in case you’re desperate for a low tech/ non-Wii Christmas gift idea for a boy in your life, honestly, there’s nothing like simple wooden blocks and a bag of little plastic army guys. Sometimes it's good to go unplugged. Here’s snow day proof ...





The Other Vibe. I have been married 20 years. My husband, Steve, is the other half of my brain. We are good friends. We are an awesome team. I rely on him for directions when I'm lost, a man's perspective on parenting boys, and overall, a better saner approach to life when I'm stuck in a fog. I can't imagine my life without him.
That said, we are normal. We have dysfunctions. And we've taken many years to learn a dance that we both hate to get into... and yes, we get into it. I say that thing, which cues him to say and feel that way, which causes him to respond this way, which causes me to respond that way ... step to the left, step to the right, twirl and repeat in a circle. The bad dance is one big crashed vibe.
This week, I'm seeing that the repair of relationships is like the hard drive repair on my computer, or the messed-up driver's side of my car.
This assortment of broken things teach something about where we've been. And none of it was my plan. Usually, the repair feels imposed not chosen; like the careening slide before the crash. It's like God just keeps overheating the hard drive, and icing the road, so we are forced into places of repair. And, I have to say this process with Steve definitely feels like a place where we've been led through many events we wouldn't have chosen, in order to learn how to dance a new dance.
Repaired = Restored. Renewed. Revitalized. And perhaps that's exactly why it's all worth it.
~God.
Food for Thought:
Maybe you already know what needs to happen next. Go for it. But, in case you're dealing with something that feels overwhelming, sometimes the best place to start is a simple prayer. Ask God for the next obvious step. And watch for it.

Advent Conspiracy offers a different way to engage the season.
"Why THE SPILL?"
When something is unexpectedly oozing and running out of it's container, we all stop and desperately look for a mop, paper towel, or stray sock to soak it up.
As a wife, a friend, and a Mom of four sons, I've done a lot of mopping. And most of the spills I've seen are a shared experience. When tipped over, basic things like milk, glue or grease can and make us all jump quick and shift in the same direction. Spills of more meaningful things like relationships, faith, or crisis also cause people to move in unity, with a common purpose. Sometimes, there is meaning in life to be shared in a spill. You never know.
But, this I've learned:
When something is spilling, it merits attention.
This is my Spill. Even though it's a mess sometimes, I hope you'll keep coming back to soak it up. Thanks for stopping by.
~Kleigh [ clAy ]