It’s just this question: does it matter?

I remember being a child and the wonderful feeling we got when the house was clean. Wait, you thought children didn’t care if the house was clean? Well, I can’t blame you; as soon as the floors were cleared we got a wonderful urge to… get out all our toys.

I’m glad that Mama made us clean things up; but I’m also glad she realized that wasn’t the only thing that mattered. You can always clean the floor up again later. Why not enjoy life in this moment and only stress about the stuff that really matters.

Ok, so maybe not stressing at all would be better.

Try it! Next time you’re taking life too seriously, ask yourself: does it really matter?

I’m not even a good mom, sometimes.

Lots of times?

We eat store-bought bread.

(And spaghetti sauce. And cookies. And yogurt.)

Somebody else folds my laundry.

I never (and I really mean never) wash all my windows.

Or my floors.

My two year old doesn’t know his colors.

Or shapes.

I don’t get up before my babies In the mornings.

I take a nap every day.

I don’t do it all.

But maybe, just maybe, life isn’t about doing it all.

Maybe it’s about God shining through all our didn’ts and can’ts.

Maybe it’s about learning to accept what is less than perfect.

Even in ourselves.

(please pardon the disjointed thoughts – I’m not myself at three in the morning.)

Limitations force creativity. This is true in most artistic endeavors. Some professional photographers occasionally shoot with a very limited camera to force themselves to focus on creative composition. Poetry, by its very nature, is all about limitations. Some of the world’s greatest composers have been blind. Today, disabled people paint beautiful pictures with their mouths, their feet.

I wish I could learn to use my physical limitations to my advantage. I wish my pain and fatigue would force me to focus on the essentials, on the things that matter, would force me to use my resources creatively and effectively. But for some reason I find the application hard to make.

Have you learned to use a limitation to expand your abilities or effectiveness? I’d love to hear about it – maybe I’ll get inspired.

I asked for smooth roads;
Instead, God granted me wings
To rise up and fly.

I asked Him for peace;
He made me a peace maker
And then sent me forth.

So all my prayers
He answered in His own way;
And His ways are best.

I’ve known it all my life – God is our refuge. But for some reason yesterday this verse struck me differently. It says that in times of trouble God will hide me – in His house. A king or a millionaire might help a person, but only a friend would they take into their house.

Somehow, I needed that promise this week, and it made me feel very special.

For myself, I often find my energy so limited that even these basic duties have to be performed by someone else, and I find myself wondering, “How can I serve God when I’m not even doing my duty, and certainly have no time or energy to spare?”

But as my husband reminds me often, the little things I do – feeding a baby, holding a grumpy toddler, or typing an email for him – are service to God no less than preaching a sermon; for “Whatsoever you have done unto the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto Me”.

Again, I am reminded of the widow’s mites, and I bow my head in gratitude that the Creator of the universe accepts my feeble offering as a gift.

“Be still, and know that I am God” must have been written for times like this.

My family had no television, and often we would spend the evenings listening to my father read out loud. We were exposed to many, many books in this way – and also to our parents convictions as we talked about what had been read.

Mama would often read, too. In the afternoon, after most schoolwork had been done, while we all folded laundry. She read history and biographies, while Papa like to focus on character-building stories and literature.

We usually took a trip once or twice a year, often to my grandparents’ cabin or a nearby Christian family camp. Sometimes we went camping. On those evenings, after we were all tucked in, Papa would play his guitar – a soothing, rhythmic progression of chords that I’m sure would put me to sleep to this day.

As the oldest, I had quite a bit of responsibility. Mama knew that, and she would occasionally take me out on an evening, often grocery shopping. A few times she took me somewhere for hot chocolate or a slice of pie. Those times were very special.

I also remember the wrestling matches we would have with Papa. He would sit on the floor, bracing himself with his arms, and we would all attack at once, trying to knock him over. For some reason, that game stopped once a few of us hit our teens!

I was never a hard sleeper, and often I would wake from a nightmare frightened. I always knew that if I knocked on my parents door, there would be an answer and comfort – and no scolding for getting them up. That availability continued into my teen years when real life struggles replaced nightmares and nights were the only time to talk.

I could go on and on – singing in the van, everywhere we went; working together on special projects, from cleaning the church to labeling burritos; Christmas tree hunting and decorating; ice-cream, when we lost our first tooth; making pancakes on Saturday mornings. No, I don’t have all good memories, but I have so many. I feel blessed beyond measure when I look back on my childhood, and I wonder if my parents knew what kind of memories they were making.

And that brings me to the resolve to give my children that gift. It is up to me, now; and today is tomorrow’s memories. I want to live purposefully, to invest in my children, to cherish each moment, creating habits and traditions that will become favorite memories in the future.

What about you? What are your favorite childhood memories? What memories do you want to create for your children? How do you develop traditions as a family?