extraordinary

During the summer when my three little darlings were all home and The Man was traveling a lot, I was hit with some powerful and unexpected emotions of insignificance. Perhaps it was because the most important thing I seemed to do all day was playing referee for twins who would not stop fighting. And I wasn't even doing it very well.

I felt small. I felt hidden. I felt overlooked. And I felt guilty. It seemed in many ways that the work my husband was doing as a youth pastor - traveling with a couple hundred teenagers to be the hands and feet of Jesus for a town who lost so much in last years floods - that work was extraordinary. And the work I was doing at home? Well, that was just expected.

I've heard all the mother's day sermons that praise moms for the work we do. I know the one liners about changing the world one diaper at a time and all that. I do believe it's true. But when you are in it, it doesn't feel true. It just feels ordinary.

An emotional woman + a husband out of town + a couple of bad days + three fighting kids = Yikes. Throw in a few hormones and you've got one discouraged mama on your hands.

In a moment of what can't be explained by anything other than the sweet hand of God, I picked up a book called The Indwelling Life of Christ by Major Ian Thomas. He is a favorite in our house. And there, on the very page I turned to, I saw this:

It is not the nature of what you do that determines the spirituality of any action, but the origin of what you do.

Well then. If what I do is done in complete dependence upon the Father, then I suppose it doesn't matter what that thing is, rather who is the one doing that thing. Is it me? Or is it Him? Who am I to decide what is extraordinary? The Father has already decided. And He says He is extraordinary. So anything I do as I depend on the Extraordinary One, well...I guess that is extraordinary, too.