I'm sitting in my kitchen, eating dinner, my puppies passed out on the floor, while my husband is playing some hippy-let's-kill-em-game in the living room. And I'm marveling....that our relationship has matured to the point that I can breathe when in a seperate room, that I am a fantastic cook (beef stew and cranberry crisp - it's what I've been wanting all day), and that the kitchen lights came back on.
Cause somedays it's the little things.
I've been quipping a lot lately - "God always provides. You didn't get that because He has something better. Prayer is our biggest resource." And I really didn't mean to be cliche...I'm slowly learning that those things are true. But I wonder, as I carefully planned my December for optimum holiday zest and minimal stress, if God wasn't standing back going "Ha!" (I know - I really do - that He is lovingly and painstakingly patiently redirecting my focus, but behind all that love, there is a little snarky snicker. I know this, because He gave me that same snarky snicker.)
See, I love my hundred year old house. I mean, I have a banister. A legit, oak banister with a garland on it. But like anything that is a hundred years old...it has its issues. So, the week of my birthday we found out that a circuit shorted out, leaving our bedroom powerless (Yay giant orange extension cord!), our sump pump was dying (double yay water in the basement!), there is a leak in an eve - yes, not the roof, an eve - AND there was a Niagra sized leak in the shower upstairs. Between the water and circuits, random lights keep coming on and off, which requires resetting something big and metal every few days. And while I consider myself very thrifty, and can do 330 different things with a yard of ribbon,repairing, the type that requires saws and bolts and such, ain't exactly my forte.
So as I left my broken house Friday to go to work for nine hours, all I could think of was the ceiling caving in from the water and ruining my new, beautiful Christmas tree (and frying the lights, which would catch the rug on fire and kill my two puppies).
I wasn't in a very shalom-y place. To top it off, stress makes me nearly diabetic, and my blood sugars wouldn't stay on a normal plain. Odd how a little stress can make you feel like you're recovering from the Malasian Bird-Swine Plague Flu (Contagion, anyone?).
And this is how I know that the "Ha!" is backed by love. Our sermon Sunday night was all about peace - not the happy, "We're all groovy" kind of peace. But the unbroken state of wellness and ultimate content promised by the prophets and made real in Jesus. And oh, my soul wants that. I've been in crisis mode (not even real crisis - even if my roof fell in [which it hasn't] I have a roof. Which is a lot more than some.).
So I'm not shalom-ing very well. But I keep telling Jesus that. And I keep saying (hoping my heart will catch up), just like Mary did, when she was called on that terrifying aventure of a lifetime, "Be it unto me." And I figure, even if all I can muster is, "Jesus, we need lights in the kitchen. I gotta make some food!" - at least He hears me. He is our Emmanual - the perfect embodiment of what Israel hoped and prayed for. The Man Unbroken - who offers His shalom to us, even at our craziest. Even in the dark, when I'm hungry.
So I thankful tonight for the shalom of my stew....and a lit kitchen.
