Monday Matters

Monday... The dreaded back to work day... A day I used to dread but have learned to enjoy. This Monday, the green grass is turning white with snow. I stated this on the way to school and Shaunti response was: "I don't get it."  I think she says that to be funny. I have yet to inform her it isn't, but it is also harmless. I let it go again.

The rituals of Monday at our house go something like this: Sleep till six. Turn off the alarm clock. Crawl back into bed trying to ignore the fact that it all must begin again. Finally, after gathering enough strength from husbands arms and warmth, I climb out of bed and begin the unavoidable ascent into the day.

 There is a hot shower and strong cup of coffee which help one to have a more wakeful posture of the mind. Sorta. This coffee, I sip thoughtfully as I pack lunches and fry eggs and make toast. There is the mad scramble of homework slips that need to be signed, the morning chores of gathering eggs, and feeding the dog. There is the fight for the  bathroom, everyone wanting to brush their teeth at the same time. The fifteen year old thinks and sometimes says, "Why bother making the bed, Mom? I'm just going to mess it up again tonight." Hence, his bed is left all rumpled and scrunched most days. Sometimes it's best to choose my battles.

On Mondays, after dropping the kids at school, I go to the Post Office and help Bruce sort the mail. This ritual is only going to happen a few more times because of changes taking place in our life. Transition is never easy. I like ritual. I grow accustomed to its sameness and feel a spot of comfort. I also look forward to this change of job. One day soon, it too will fall into a pattern.

I come home and start the laundry and dishes. While I warm another cup of coffee, I relish in the quietness of solitude. The muscles of my mind stretch and breath deeply as I read inspiring stories of other peoples lives, and write and sort through the weekend's clutter of the mind. I remember the days of endless noise and chatter and messes when the children didn't yet go to school and think of those moms that are still "in the midst". For a minute I feel guilty. Then, I rejoice. Why not?

Sunday's inspirations flit through my mind. We sang- Because He Lives- I noticed a new phrase, 'the war with pain,' and the promise of it soon being over when we cross that river. The phrase pleased me. All week I struggled to put into words what I was feeling about this, and there it is. Three words make it factual. It isn't only my path, it is a common malady. Everyone feels this war with the pain life brings. I was feeling shame and reproach for even thinking it. After all, who am I to feel pain? [I have blessings untold. I have a very good life. I am treated well.]

 Yet, we do. We become lonely in the middle of a potluck. Sometimes, we are the most lonely in a crowd. We have pain from those times and we have pain of self reproach. We feel pain from the struggle of always turning the wrong way of thinking into the right way of thinking. We wonder, when will it ever be natural to think right? 

The message was on surrender. The thought came to me as I was struggling to accept that my husband was going to miss yet another Sunday morning service, because of his service, I needed to surrender that too. That in this moment, joy in his serving, was surrender to God's will. This is really what it's all about, serving God by serving others. I also chose to surrender the comments, notice, and concern I felt from others who "Don't get it", as Shaunti likes to say. I mustn't care if others are critical of how my husband serves.

As the sermon comes to an end, I wonder, How many people are actually joyous in perfection or in having their ideals met? What real sacrifice or learning takes place in that? I feel challenged to embrace the imperfections of my life, the ideals not met, and the loneliness of my times. God is there in the war with pain. It is meant to be.