The Oklahoma death sun is, once again, trying to kill me and everyone’s grass.
At the beginning of the heat spell that came straight from Hades, I was attempting to water my grass sporadically. One day, in my desperation and dramatics, I set the water hose down to flood the ground for 10 minutes. An hour and a half later, I remembered.
A few weeks later, there was a noticeable green spot that displayed its beauty in the midst of the dead, brown grass and a water bill that was significantly higher than normal.
This feels like motherhood.
We can have a clean house or healthy food or time with Jesus or dinners at the table or exercise or time at our kids’ games or date nights or bed times that feel right or early rising, but to have all of them feels as easy as keeping an entire yard of Oklahoma grass green in August.
We pour time and energy and money and love into one part of life and it thrives while the rest struggles. We switch our focus, we aim elsewhere, and that area thrives while the ceiling fans pile up with dust.
While the Tony’s pizzas are consumed.
While the sock basket becomes more unruly by the day.
While the kids’ bathroom becomes a pit of destruction.
While stillness seeps out of the holes of chaos.
Our dryer now sings to us. A high-pitched-song that suggests something is terribly wrong.
All my laundry is clean, yet six clean loads linger. From the basket, to the bed. Til the kids’ bellies are fed. All these kiddos said. Ah fo fo fo fo fo fold. Ah fo fo fo fold.
Despite the clean laundry, I notice the undone.
There are a few green yards on my street that appear to stay that way at the expense of the green bills in their wallet. They’re quite lovely.
A man I know from Pennsylvania moved to Oklahoma earlier this summer. One of his first observations was how much his neighbors watered their grass.
He was looking around, noticing others’ efforts, yet as summer took us further into hell-type-temps, many were still walking across golden brown yards each day despite their efforts. Fighting what feels like a losing battle unless you’re willing to pay the cost.
So maybe we should all just turn off the sprinklers, save some money, and live in our deserts.
Maybe we should all just stop doing the laundry, save some energy, and live in even more chaos.
Sounds slammin’!
But maybe a brown yard doesn’t shout neglect.
Maybe the green spot simply shows that some things are getting our attention while others are not.
Are we looking at the brown grass like we’re doing something wrong? Are we looking at the pieces of life that don’t feel up to par like failure? Look around. Notice the green spots.
Notice the loved kiddos.
Notice the consistent marriage.
Notice the paid bills.
Notice the fed bellies.
Notice the time spent with Jesus.
Notice the spots that are growing. Notice what’s working. Notice what’s going right.
One day August (and maybe September) will take its Mario-death-sun with it and run away. And one day, maybe there will be more green spots.
But until then, maybe we stop measuring our life by the brown spots and realize…we’re not failing.
Look around.
We’re just living through August.