Lately I've been thinking about Holiness in the mundane, and serving God in my daily work. It's reframed the way I think about my day. I'm no longer trying to skim by with the minimum on certain tasks. And success is now measured by how I acted toward others, rather than what I did that day. Most of the time, it's not the answers that are as important as asking the right questions; this question - is what I'm doing right now a reflection of God's character? - is changing me, and I'm thankful for it.
Also, I believe in intuition. How you describe it probably depends on your understanding of God, but I believe very strongly in a knowing that cannot be explained. I have known both of my children before they were born (I did not know the two I lost. I know some of you have had dreams about the babies you lost, but I haven't, which is probably a blessing). I knew that Asher would be introverted. Not shy, but introverted, as in gaining energy from quiet. And I knew that Silas would be a firecracker. He would have his dad's temperament - extroverted, passionate, daring. It wasn't a daydream, it was a spiritual knowledge. With both children, I have been very careful not to turn my intuition into a self-fulfilling prophecy. I am always careful to let them grow into who they will be, and not to characterize them based on my own expectations (although both children should be pretty well convinced by now that they are beautiful, smart, and good-natured, and that, too, is by design). Even so, it is fascinating to see them grow into the people I knew they would be. Silas, as long as I have known him, seems to delight in frightening his mother. There have been several time now, even at his age, where I have stood over him, holding my breath, praying for his safety, only to have him look up and smile. As if to say, just you wait.
And Asher continues to grow - with me, despite me, away from me - into his own person, with his own wants and ideas. We have crossed a threshold. He no longer names things, he now talks about them. We have conversations now, and many of them are about imaginary things. I love watching his mind grow. Yesterday, sitting in my lap, talking to the doctor, he was just - precious. She would look at him very seriously and say, "Do your ears hurt?" He would nod his head solemnly. "Does your nose hurt?" He shook his head vigorously. "Does your throat hurt?" Another nod. He is this tiny little person now. He is no longer a baby at all, but a little boy. Watching them grow is holy, too. The fact that these two little lives splintered from mine, and are now their own, with thoughts I will never have, and experiences we will not share ... it never gets old. Motherhood is as old and natural as earth and grass and love, and yet it still feels like something amazing, supernatural, special. Wasn't it Greg who said the most universal experiences are also the most intimate? He was right.
Happy Saturday, everyone.