Simplicity
We've been reflecting some lately- Aaron and I. It could be something in the cool weather or more likely, it's that while we're going 90 miles and hour we every once in a while catch a glimpse of something in our review mirror that makes us do a double take and we think about how we would like to pull our vehicle of life over to the side for a moment a pause.
It could have been pulling out my paintings for Artful Worship and realizing I hadn't painted in a couple years. It could have been finishing painting our back bedroom and moving back my dusty craft supplies and mildewy suitcases that haven't seen light in a while. It could have been the multiple nights of dirty dishes we've been leaving out when we usually like going to bed with a clean counter. It could have been the weeds in our garden, the dead petunias in the flower pots outside our front door, or the grass that took Aaron three times as long to mow because it was so tall. It could have been catching a glance at Aaron's rock climbing ropes shoved in our closet or the bike tires that are quite low.
We've both been running a little low on gas. We've been asking ourselves hard questions and wondering sometimes how we end up where we get and how to say no, how to pause and look at the scenery, how to enjoy what we're doing and act like we're actually in our mid 20s.
Driving through the windy mountain roads this weekend, I thought about how our lives had changed over the years. Sometimes we get into a rut of just seeing the fun things we don't do as much- painting, climbing, camping, hiking, playing guitar, running around in the sunshine like we had not a care in the world- instead of all the wonderful things we are getting to do right now. Real life seems to have a bit more sweat, blood, and tears before you see the rainbow at the end.
It's all to easy to let what we do define us. And in a way- that's ok. The fact that I am a wife is defining. The fact that I am a teacher is defining. But what happens when those things are no longer? What happens when I am an artist and then I don't pick up a brush for years? What happens when I am a tennis player and then I don't step foot on a court for months at a time? What happens when things that once gave me joy are no longer normal rhythms in my life?
A friend told me they were reading a book and thought of me because and the author wrote that in a some stressful situation she thought: "WWAVD? What would Ann Voskamp do?" And yes, I LOVE Ann (wish we were on a first name basis...).
So, here I go and insert some Ann Voskamp theology:
Gratitude. I give thanks. I find grace and beauty in what I am doing and thank God. It's so simple and somehow I make it so complex.
I make lots of things complex. A word that God keeps bringing to mind is "simplicity." I've been dwelling on that idea and how to be simple in my living, simple in my giving.
All that I have is not my own. I am not made of what I have or what I do. I am made of flesh and bones and a heart that beats with a song of praise and lungs that breathe with the breath of my Creator.
This world is not my home. Heaven is my home. I am a pilgrim on a journey home. I am set free from the things that hold me down on earth.
Freely we've received, now freely we can give. Give thanks. Give joy. Give love.
What we do and have ebbs and flows. Who we are in Christ is constant and forever.
It could have been pulling out my paintings for Artful Worship and realizing I hadn't painted in a couple years. It could have been finishing painting our back bedroom and moving back my dusty craft supplies and mildewy suitcases that haven't seen light in a while. It could have been the multiple nights of dirty dishes we've been leaving out when we usually like going to bed with a clean counter. It could have been the weeds in our garden, the dead petunias in the flower pots outside our front door, or the grass that took Aaron three times as long to mow because it was so tall. It could have been catching a glance at Aaron's rock climbing ropes shoved in our closet or the bike tires that are quite low.
We've both been running a little low on gas. We've been asking ourselves hard questions and wondering sometimes how we end up where we get and how to say no, how to pause and look at the scenery, how to enjoy what we're doing and act like we're actually in our mid 20s.
Driving through the windy mountain roads this weekend, I thought about how our lives had changed over the years. Sometimes we get into a rut of just seeing the fun things we don't do as much- painting, climbing, camping, hiking, playing guitar, running around in the sunshine like we had not a care in the world- instead of all the wonderful things we are getting to do right now. Real life seems to have a bit more sweat, blood, and tears before you see the rainbow at the end.
It's all to easy to let what we do define us. And in a way- that's ok. The fact that I am a wife is defining. The fact that I am a teacher is defining. But what happens when those things are no longer? What happens when I am an artist and then I don't pick up a brush for years? What happens when I am a tennis player and then I don't step foot on a court for months at a time? What happens when things that once gave me joy are no longer normal rhythms in my life?
A friend told me they were reading a book and thought of me because and the author wrote that in a some stressful situation she thought: "WWAVD? What would Ann Voskamp do?" And yes, I LOVE Ann (wish we were on a first name basis...).
So, here I go and insert some Ann Voskamp theology:
Gratitude. I give thanks. I find grace and beauty in what I am doing and thank God. It's so simple and somehow I make it so complex.
I make lots of things complex. A word that God keeps bringing to mind is "simplicity." I've been dwelling on that idea and how to be simple in my living, simple in my giving.
All that I have is not my own. I am not made of what I have or what I do. I am made of flesh and bones and a heart that beats with a song of praise and lungs that breathe with the breath of my Creator.
This world is not my home. Heaven is my home. I am a pilgrim on a journey home. I am set free from the things that hold me down on earth.
Freely we've received, now freely we can give. Give thanks. Give joy. Give love.
What we do and have ebbs and flows. Who we are in Christ is constant and forever.
Robert and I are feeling the same way lately... (Also I adore Ann Voskamp too!) I appreciate your posts Kim, thanks for sharing your heart. God's deepest blessings of joy and peace to you and Aaron both.
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