He called me yesterday morning and told me it'd be at least another week. Another week of doing it all myself, with a husband across the Pacific, and two girls refusing to sleep. As he began to talk, my cheeks burned red, and hot tears began to flow from my eyes. I was mad, frustrated, and oh so tired. We quickly ended our facetime call, frustrated and tense, and I started my day.
Of course, as it turns out, nothing about this day would go right. I made cookies for a prior commitment to the sound of a two year old screaming with each plop of dough that landed on the sheet. After all my attempts to appease her, only for her to grow louder, I finally conceded and she had goldfish and chocolate chip cookies for breakfast. Mom fail.
As my other girl started to wake from her sleep, I cared for her, only to stop every nine minutes to take out more cookies. Leaving her meant tears each time, because we have officially entered the separation anxiety stage, along with constant teething. Each time I walked away, she would cry, and big sister would be found with yet another chocolate covered face. It was not a great start to the day.
After dropping off the cookies around noon, I realized that my toddler had not even had a proper meal or drink. Mom fail, again. So, because I believe Sonic can cure almost every depressing day, we ran through picked up some junk and headed home. In an attempt to reclaim the day, I opened the garage and pulled out all their outside toys. A wagon full of balls, bubbles, and blankets was a delight to my sweet Lettie, and Star rolled around the driveway on her little "bi-hickle", curls flowing in the wind. Eventually though, I attempted to bring the girls in for their naps. Immediately, a tantrum began, and for almost two hours I fought hard to get both to sleep.
Finally, they let their eyes rest, and I began to sweep the house. In a physical sense, sweeping the crumbs and dirt away gives my house an instant facelift. It all feels a little brighter. And in the midst of the physical sweeping, God began sweeping away the dirt and grime, the frustration and impatience towards the day, off my heart. In the fluid motion of bringing things to their rightful place, a small voice spoke, "What if you treated everyday like Saturday?".
Saturday, the day where plans don't exist. The day where the mundane is cast aside. The day where being a fun, playful, active mom is put before the demands of the house. The day where each little thing can be made special. The day I long for more than any other. What would happen if I ceased to see each day as the days leading up to Saturday, and started living as if each day were Saturday?
As a stay-at-home mom, I don't have to be governed by a set routine or structure. Unless it's a prior engagement, there is no where I have to be. And because of the nature of two in two years, no one expects my home to be perfection, but me. I am the one who is a control freak. I am the one who can't go to bed unless the rooms are perfect, even if it means staying up past midnight. I am the one who won't enjoy the beauty of my backyard unless the porch looks like something from Southern Living. And since that never happens, I never sit outside. I am the one who breaks my back preparing for one single day in the midst of six other days. I am the one who puts mundane, unrealistic perfection and pressure over the choice to live free.
Our Creator didn't design this incredible world and life for us to only enjoy less than 15% of the time. He wants us to take hold of it, marvel in it's simplistic, astounding beauty, to break free from the social constructs, telling us how to and where to spend the time He has given.
As I looked around that empty, quiet kitchen, I felt regret and shame. I longed for the clock to turn backward so I could get a second chance at the day. Time is a mirror. It either reflects beauty, and a life well lived, or it reflects guilt, wasted opportunity, and shame. A mirror doesn't reflect the 15% of life I surrender control and live. It reflects the whole of me, and therefore the whole of my time. No one else can change my reflection in that mirror. They may alter the image for a moment, but my reflection remains the same, unless I change it myself. My girls don't deserve a less than 15% mother. My husband doesn't deserve a less than 15% wife. My God doesn't deserve a less than 15% child. But each time I choose perfection and control over total surrender, I live under 15% of the life I am graced to live, bound to a single day, while mucking through the rest.
So last night, I resolved to let free the 15% of my soul that somehow gets it right, and live each day like Saturday. To wake up, with a smile on my face, and a song in my heart, as my Granny would say. I resolved to free myself from my inner pressure and control, recognizing it as Satan's work in attempting to steal my joy. I relinquish the 85% of myself that seeks perfection into the hands of the Perfect One, surrendering to Him the whole of my days. And I chose an everyday Saturday, recognizing each day won't be perfect, but believing there is something beautiful, profound, and special to be found amongst the most common of days.
As I went to bed, a text popped up on my phone, telling me he'd be coming home sooner than expected. I have 3 days left with just my girls. How different will life look in the midst of the Everyday Saturday?
It is I who made the earth and created mankind on it. My own hands stretched out the heavens; I marshaled their starry hosts...For thus says the LORD, who created the heavens (he is God!), who formed the earth and made it (he established it; he did not create it empty, he formed it to be inhabited!): “I am the LORD, and there is no other.
Isaiah 45:12 & 18