The transfer station awaits.
Wall-to-wall, in her silver Toyota, ten-gallon buckets brim with trash: batteries and light bulbs, paper and plastic, cardboard, newsprint, cans and glass, everything duly sorted. Time for another recycle run.
A whiff from a milk jug sours the air. She collapses against the driver’s seat, powers down all the windows, then buckles up. Reaching for the key, her door still ajar, she overhears a jarring thought: This is my life.
She swivels to view the refuse of rural existence.
This?
Oh, of course: Be Here Now, etc. etc.
And yet she feels . . . singled out. Clued in. Redirected. As if the boss is calling her into his office, offering her a promotion. Moving forward involves a transfer complete with perks and a moving allowance.
Now she feels unnerved, yet energized, almost weightless, and this cracks open her longings. There’s an inner fizz somewhere near her heart, akin to an electrical charge.
“This is my LIFE!“
A bubble of laughter surprises her. Here she is, still mobile, still independent, a woman empowered by grace to make choices.
She closes the car door. Adios, drudgery. So long, resignation. Away with all she no longer needs! Upending the actual buckets will be cathartic.
She engages the engine, grinning, a little sheepish because she finally gets it.
Each task done in a day can dovetail with God’s will — in itself, a destination. She gets to ride shotgun.
Realigning her will, that’s the real work. Why has navigating this pivot taken her so many years? The idea’s not new, but today it feels like a revelation.
Every task undertaken with God — most likely unnoticed by others — counts. Just as much as writing the next blog post or poem.
En route to offload the used, she feels repurposed. Recharged.
“It is ingrained in us that we have to do exceptional things for God — but we do not,” Oswald Chambers wrote. “We have to be exceptional in the ordinary things of life, and holy on the ordinary streets, among ordinary people . . . ”
Turns out, this IS the life: Savoring the mundane, we encounter the holy.
Photo by John Cameron on Unsplash
You might also enjoy this, from the archives: A Rut Worth a Second Look
*Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, entry 10/22
Oh my, Laurie, so much of this resonates…. Be.Here.Now.
and this, “Each task done in a day can dovetail with God’s will — in itself, a destination. She gets to ride shotgun.”
We get to ride shotgun. Amen!
And thank you for echoing my newsletter’s tagline–looking for the miraculous to mundane.
We are alive, independent and ‘able to move about the cabin.” Praise His Name!
Oh, delightful word choice — “able to move about the cabin” sounds exactly like an adventure unfolding . . . : )
YES! “It is ingrained in us that we have to do exceptional things for God — but we do not,” Oswald Chambers wrote. “We have to be exceptional in the ordinary things of life, and holy on the ordinary streets, among ordinary people . . . ” YES!!
This recognition makes our lives joyful.
My Motto: Every Day is A Gift! Live Grateful!
Love you! Deanna
What a great motto! An affirmation and an imperative. Love it.
Love you, Deanna.
Thank you, Laurie. Your post nudged a wave of tears forward. My life has been mundane for so long now but honestly I actually don’t mind. I think it’s others who don’t understand how I could be content in such circumstances. Now, I can speak the truth you’ve highlighted: “Turns out, this IS the life: Savoring the mundane, we encounter the holy.”
Your words made me think, too, of the gift of seeing. Seeing the rhinoceros in a bush’s broken stump; seeing the story of me sitting with God in the simple black and white drawing of Adirondack chairs on a dock; seeing the little white cat formed with snow on the red-berried bush. This gift of seeing, I think, amplifies when we savor the mundane moments. It’s a wondrous gift wrapped in Immanuel’s glimmering holiness.
This gift gives an inkling of the marvelousness of our Creator’s eyes, too. Just imagine what He sees. Not only the wildflowers on mountain valleys, but all the things that wouldn’t be so evident to us humans. And an especially glorious thought: When He saw the human in the dirt as His began to intimately shape, He saw each moment of the human’s future days–mundane holiness included. “Thank you, Lord.”
And, thank you , Laurie, for giving your gift of seeing to your readers.
Dear Carol, your contentment, graced by an eye trained over time by Love to perceive in simple things uncommon charm, possibility, and layers of meaning, make me want to more deeply inhabit my days. Attention honed and ears attuned. Glimpses, truly “amplified” — thank you for that perfect description.
And what a delight to glimpse a few of your “seeings.” Your descriptions engage my senses and imagination. They usher me toward wonder, those glimmers of God among us, whose vision for us all spans dust as well as the cosmos, inklings as well as profound understanding.
Whoever said “perspective is everything” spoke a volume of truth in three words! We can even turn the search for a positive outlook into a delightful adventure! And your conclusion expresses such wisdom, Laurie. In savoring the mundane, we DO encounter the holy–the holiness of beauty, wonder, and joy–all engineered by our Heavenly Father. Thank you for your uplifting post!
Nancy, that’s a good one, for sure. I have a friend in England I call Robert the Wise. He inspired me years ago to pay attention in such a way that God can transform sight into insight. I love that.
May we see and search out the things and events and people around us with trusting, elemental hope.
Thank you.
This, in particular, resonates:
“Each task done in a day can dovetail with God’s will — in itself, a destination. She gets to ride shotgun.
Realigning her will, that’s the real work…
Every task undertaken with God — most likely unnoticed by others — counts.”
Paul comes to mind… “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who works in you both to will and to do for His good pleasure.”
RT (Ricky Translation) sounds like this… “Work it. Own it. Your ‘can’t’ is a scary place. Gives ya the shakes. Oh, but He can. He did. And He does. He finds delight in it. Join in.”
Rick, love the translation! A perfect gift on this bright autumn day.
Gonna walk it. Sing it. Live it.
Thank you, Laurie! This was wonderful. I was just thinking along these lines today while walking my dog under the ruby-leaved maples in my small town’s downtown.
Judith, this is so vivid! The word ruby. The crackle and scent of leaves underfoot, the good companionship of a beloved animal, walking in shared delight and holiness along ordinary streets, greeting the people you live and work among.
Thank you. Feels like I’ve walked half a block at your side.
This is my life post stem cell transplant. Good to hear you recount what honoring God most often entails.
O, this whole enterprise of “honoring”: I get so misled at times. Typical firstborn, trying to somehow grasp the hem of the exceptional, as if it’s a status earned rather than a relationship given.
And then the truly singular, rare, and unusual One who loves us whispers.
Yes!
Susan, thank you for chiming in with that resounding affirmation!
This is wonderful, Laurie.
Dear Dana, thank you.
This was such a gift, such a powerful realization for me. And to think I’ve groused over not having curbside recycling! Now, even the commute becomes meaningful.
May the truth of it hold onto me when I absentmindedly misplace it . . .
Laurie, this is something I have been learning over and over lately. My Father is looking for my belief in Him, my delight in His presence and my obedience to Him. Those things bring rest and peace and joy.
Carol, how WONDERFUL to see your name just now!— and in its wake, to experience warm memories of times we’ve shared.
“Belief, delight, and obedience” — I feel the contagious invitation inherent in your list. And I love the rhythm of that phrase. It sings. I want to breathe more deeply and take long strides. What a powerful springboard for daily actions and responses! Thank you for sharing it. I am going to act on the “delight” aspect right now: grab my camera and favorite hat and go scuff through some leaves . . .