August 18, 2020

Recently I spent the day with my 2-year-old granddaughter and 5- year old grandson. My daughter and son-in-law had just purchased a beautiful dining table and it was brought home, along with a very big, actually a huge box, lined with Styrofoam strips designed to protect the table sides, legs and pedestal base.

When I arrived, early that morning, the babies were still asleep. I saw the enormous box, along with the styrofoam, still intact. I entertained a fleeting thought of taking the box out to the street after my son-in-law left for work (my daughter works a VERY early nursing shift and had already left for work a while before I arrived).

So, here I am, coffee in hand, alone in this room, with this big box. I am pretty certain at this point that neither of my grands had seen the box; otherwise, in my rationale, they’d have already made some spectacular fort on display for me to see as I arrived. So, I left the box there, enjoying my sips of still hot coffee and a few minutes of quiet before the little cherubs would soon awaken. I watched the birds flit from atop the sprinkler head, to the top of the fence at the back of their property, playfully chasing each other and pecking at the newly planted sod. A lone mockingbird seemed to rule the backyard amongst several robins and cardinals. It stood perched atop the sprinkler head stand, assuming dominion over the backyard.  Its usual early morning song was interrupted by its territorial squawking that seemed to mimic the seagulls in Finding Nemo, saying, “Mine! Mine! Mine!” Absent from the back yard is a bird feeder, so I’m baffled at all the ruckus out there; why is the mockingbird being so grumpy and bossy?

About that time, I hear my 2- year old granddaughter’s sweet, awakening voice on the monitor in the kitchen. So, I venture upstairs, open her door and say, “Good Morning, Evelyn! It’s Granfoo!” Standing up, she peeks at me through her tousled blonde bangs, and plops back down on her crib mattress. I scoop her up and we go downstairs for her to eat her usual Honey Nut Cheerios. She notices the big cardboard box, walks over to it, walks on top of it, pushes back a part of it and sits right in the middle of the bottom part of the box. She comes over to the little table just their size and eats breakfast and soon after, 5-year old brother Ford awakens and joins us for his breakfast as I tell them about the many birds in the backyard earlier. Ford says, “Granfoo, it’s like that mockingbird is saying “I am the king of the backyard!” I totally agree with him.

Soon, the early morning cobwebs give way to great adventures. I go and start some laundry while never saying anything about the “elephant in the room”-the huge box. Did I already mention the box was lined with Styrofoam? Just a little detail. While I’m tending to laundry, Ford and Evelyn build a fort, and a grand one it is. Ford manages to dismantle all, I do mean ALL of the Styrofoam pieces from the cardboard box, pitching the pieces out in a frenzy as Evelyn cackles and collects them, lining them up in rows. Ford starts to break apart the pieces, Evelyn squeals something about “Mine, Mine” and he tries to divide the Styrofoam up fairly. Yes, he gets most of the pieces, but Evelyn doesn’t seem to mind at this point. I’m up and down the stairs, gathering laundry, switching out loads, folding laundry downstairs on the sofa next to the colossal box building project, cleaning up in the kitchen-generally staying busy because at this point, I’m totally regretting not going with my initial gut feeling to take the box to the street upon my early morning arrival.  “Oh, how bad can it get, really…” I tell myself.  I had no idea. At this point, Ford has assembled an impressive A-frame fort and is breaking apart pieces of Styrofoam. Looking at his Styrofoam puzzle on the fort floor, I ask Ford what he’s up to.

“I’m laying tile in my fort, Granfoo.” Oh dear, I can now see where this is going. I manage some applause and praise him for his creativity. Inside, I am wondering if the Dyson is fully charged. Oh, heaven help us. I realize it’s too late to break up this little party, as Evelyn joins in with her own tile rendition, but in very, VERY tiny little pieces. She giggles to herself, says, “I break” and proceeds to tear apart Styrofoam in almost mania form. With every break, she realizes she’s now creating Styrofoam snow; Ford will not be outdone by his younger sister and with even more intent and strength, joins in the creation of a full-on snowstorm. I’m standing at the kitchen sink, not sure how or when this will end. I’m wondering if I should name this snowstorm like meteorologists name hurricanes. I manage to inform the kiddos that, “now, remember, we all need to clean up when we are done”, then breaking into the clean-up song from Barney. The two little eskimos look up at me, laugh hysterically, then run through the snowy Styrofoam, creating a whirlwind of epic proportions. We are now encased, yes, even trapped inside a snow globe. Now, I understand how the mockingbird I’d seen earlier felt, territorial and protective of my surroundings. Caught between the innocence of ecstatic children and my bent toward maintaining control.

Our little adventure has now encompassed most of the early morning and I’m sure it must be nap time soon. I glance at my watch. It’s barely 8:30 am. Oh, dear. These babies are having the time of their life, being creative, laughing, playing, getting along, all without the thrill of electronic stimulation: just good old-fashioned imagination and play. Together. I take a deep breath, trying to avoid inhaling Styrofoam as I’m convinced something dreadful will surely happen if I do. But, in reality, the snowstorm has settled close to the floor, whirling around in tiny wisps of white foamy flakes. I usher the kiddos up to the playroom so I can clean up the foam before it transforms into its own kind of carpet on the hardwood floor. I tell them the best way they can help me clean up is if they play in the playroom for a few minutes. I escort them up to the playroom. I grab the Dyson, head back down to the growing spread of snow. Did you know when you turn on your vacuum, air actually comes out of one end? Normally, this is no big deal. But we are in a full-on snow drift here. The vacuum sucks in snow, the fan blows the remaining snow all over the place, as if it’s laughing at me in doing so.  Clumps of Styrofoam snow get stuck in the hose. The fully charged vacuum soon wears itself out. So, you guessed it…no choice but to use the broom and dustpan. The babies peek downstairs, I say, “It’s going great guys, almost done!” Well, sort of. 

I could have taken the box to the street shortly after I arrived early that morning. I could have said “no” to building the fort or taking out of the box the Styrofoam pieces. I could have said “no” to the breaking off of the Styrofoam pieces (I kind of knew at that point what might happen in the very near future). I could’ve avoided the massive construction of the interior snow globe. But what’s the fun in that? Grandparents are supposed to be fun, right? I’m not sure when I became more laid back in my grand parenting than I was in my parenting. In those moments of sweeping up snow, I thought about if I had been too fussy with my grown kids when they were little. You know, projecting the “let’s have fun, it just needs to be perfect fun mentality.” Wanting everything to look nice, everybody be nice, everything turn out nice. Kind of like checking all the right boxes; assuming we are able to tie up our lives in tidy, beautifully trimmed bows and offer the perfect “pre-packaged” side of ourselves to our families and the world around us.

But God uses imperfect, grace-filled believers; His own children to speak life and beauty into our imperfect, snowstorm of a world. His timing, His purposes are far beyond what our minds or our hearts can wrap around. He takes our sin, our crimson stained, sinful selves, washes us white as snow and breathes into us new life.

“Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool.” Isaiah 1:18

 His grace is sufficient. He is enough. On days when we feel like our whole world is spinning out of control like the tiny flakes of Styrofoam swirling and twirling around the living room, we can know; absolutely know that God is still on His throne. He is on His throne and yet as close as the mention of His name. When you hear those whispers of “you’re not enough, you’re a failure, you’ll never change,” remind yourself of the gospel: God created you, He desires a relationship with you but our sin gets in the way and we can’t fix our sin on our own so He sent His only Son Jesus to pay the penalty for our sin; Jesus died on our behalf; then He came back to life! Our true hope is in the grounded truth of the gospel, not in what our inner voices say to us, or what the world around us shouts to us. As believers in Christ, God has given us ALL we need for this life to be assured of our purpose, our value, our identity (2 Peter 1:1-4).  God doesn’t just give us hope; He gives us JESUS who IS our hope. Tether your hope to the gospel, dear friend. That morning, with my grands when I saw the coming “snowstorm” and felt the tendency to tighten up and “gain control” of the moment, to become, like the territorial mockingbird saying, “Mine! Mine! …this morning, this time, this situation-this life- mine! mine!” But in the chaos of that moment  I heard the gentle whisper of the sweet Holy Spirit say to my heart, “Enjoy this moment; this perfectly imperfect moment because I am in the middle of all of this chaos.” And in that moment, God reassured my fragile, weary, anxious, control-bent heart that He loves me. I can breathe Him in and breathe out my cares, my worries; all that wraps itself around my heart trying to choke out the life of God within me.   God is so, so good. He loves us so much more than we can even imagine. He is there. He sees. He is working. Even in the midst of a storm. Especially in the midst of the storm.

Prayer: Dear Heavenly Father, thank you that even in the midst of my chaos, that You are in control. I can rest in Your sovereignty. I can hide in the shadow of Your wings, knowing You do all things well. Thank You for Jesus, who IS my hope. Give me Your joy today; true, lasting  joy in Your presence. I am desperate for you Father. In Jesus’ name. Amen.