vision

A little while ago, I was running in circles. That is, I went to the track because it was Sunday morning, and the gym opened much later than usual. I pulled the car up to the curb in front of the door and read the sign thinking, “Well, duh,” because everyone is in church on Sunday morning. Okay, probably not everyone. A lot of people actually just sleep in. But in my head, “Everyone” is at church, because I know that is where I really should be.

I can’t remember now, but I think that I got up early that morning with the kids and grouched around the kitchen scowling and projecting my tired misery on them as I served up eggs and English muffins. I also downed about a pot of coffee. And when my husband (who had spent a typical week out of town on less than five hours of sleep each night) eased himself downstairs, I had to brew a whole new pot.

These details really are foggy now, because it was a few weeks ago, but I am certain that I huffed out the door and sarcastically wished him good luck with the kids. Basically, I was mad that I had to drink that whole first pot of coffee by myself, and now the only thing to do was to run it off. I sort of thrust myself out of the house with a righteous indignation about being the one who usually got up early with the kids and resenting being that person by default on the weekends, so when I idled by the door reading the posted hours sign, my disappointment was tremendous. This disappointment was compounded by the fact that it was raining, and if I was going to work off my pot of coffee in any way, it was going to be in the rain. Still, this was better than going back to eggs all over the floor and small people trying to climb all over me.

I sheltered my iPod in the lea of my wrist and began my circuit. It really is not too different to run on a track like that versus the gym, because it is repetitive. Just circles. You don’t much have to watch where you are going or ever have to think about crossing the street. I love this sort of mindlessness when I run. I mostly run for this reason. I basically want to get out of my own head for a little while. (Unfortunately, when you are on a track, mindlessness can make it a little difficult to keep track of how many times you have gone around. Sometimes I will pick rocks up to keep count. But even then I forget.)

Anyway, I was trying to shake my crabbiness and wondering what my lap count was, and thinking about how most of the people I know were in church at that moment, just running circles in the rain, when God gave me a vision. I was thinking about the eggs on the floor at home and the impossible to-do list. I was remembering how it rained like this all the time, all my life, living in Washington, and I never minded. I was worried about my iPod getting wet and rather lost in the melancholy of the music it was playing. I was thinking about how those girls wanted those eggs three different ways (or none at all, thank you) and try as I might to make everyone happy over it, most of breakfast ended up on the floor and, God, I am so tired of cleaning the floor...

And in the midst of stewing like this, I thought of flowers. I didn’t imagine daffodils, just the sunny faces of my children. I stopped my circling for a moment and caught my breath, “My flowers.” A revelation. And if these children are my flowers, well, then I have a garden. And if my children are a garden, that would make me the gardener. And this seemed to me very important. This was also very foreign to me. (I like to say that I have a “brown thumb.”) I keep one sad plant alive (barely) inside my house and have mixed luck with those that have to fend for themselves outside. I couldn’t help but giggle over this just a little, though I also couldn’t help delighting in the comparison.

I picked up my pace again and thought this through. It may be a lot to say, “God gave me a vision,” but honestly now, I had been thinking about eggs. And I was rather pissed off about the eggs too. In my experience, one of the clearest ways to know that it is God speaking is that the thought would never have come to you otherwise. You could never claim it as your own. And a pattern that I believe God loves is bringing beauty out of ugly things, small things, and even nothing. I thought that he was very gracious to do this for me at this moment when I had chosen to wallow in my negativity, to bring such a pretty thing to my attention when all my own thoughts were so ugly and small.

I turned this garden image over in my head as I circled the track. It was like finding a shiny coin in the mud. I could tuck the thought into my mind as I might put the found coin in my pocket, and every time I would happen to rest my hand there for no reason, I would recall finding it and smile. So it was when I went home to the children who were fighting, who had not eaten their eggs, and who had instead spread their breakfast mess far and wide across the floor. Mentally, I reached into my pocket and found my treasure and held it between my fingers. I thought about the responsibility I had over my garden. I made them clean up their mess and managed not to yell at them in the process. I held on to the image of their faces bright like daffodils and to the knowledge of such a good god who chooses to sprinkle my path with tokens of love and affection that turn my thoughts back to him wherever I choose to tread. I treasured all these things in my heart.

That night, as I tucked the girls in and prayed for them, I thanked God for “my three girls, my little flowers,” and Lydia giggled, delighting in the comparison.