Friday, October 3, 2014

Pretty vs Beautiful

I'm finding it hard to work up the motivation to write. 
I just don't feel like I have much to say lately, not much that isn't just nonsense rambling anyway.Scattered thoughts, as random as the images I stop to capture.
Sleepy thoughts. Mostly happy thoughts.

Yesterday, I was finally going to write, but instead, I finally decided to tackle this:


Well, to be fair, that was after I dumped everything out to sort it, their room didn't actually look like that until I started cleaning, but it may as well have.
And I feel like a million times better about life all of a sudden, because now it looks like this:


And for the next 3 days, their toys are all neatly stacked in their closet, in their appropriate bins. And doesn't our book nook look cozy?
Lately, a lot of my thoughts have been about pretty. And about beautiful.
I've been thinking how, surrounded by 3 little boys, with very little money, not much room, and even less time, sometimes home doesn't feel very pretty.
Outside is pretty. I go outside whenever I need pretty, because there are always flowers, and trees and wind and green grass, and usually everything smells really good too.
At home, right now, there's not much pretty.
There's lots of beautiful.
In my mind, whenever I describe something as pretty it is basically superficial. There is very little depth to it, and no complications. It's light, and fluffy, and easy.

But beautiful- it can be dark colored, complicated. It can even have a little dirt on it.

There's beauty outside too.
The sunset over the stillness of the river, with its pinks and oranges and shadows of twilight is pretty.
The ocean, on a stormy day, with its dangers and currents, and power.
That's beautiful.
Beauty can be scary, and it can make you really really tired.
But pretty is temporary. It's pumpkins and apple cinnamon candles, and furniture that matches.

Beauty, is eternal
Pretty is the way you feel after a really good night's sleep.

Beauty is picking up your just-turned-5-month-old for the 7th time in one night. The way his feet curl into your stomach, and your arm curls around his head, and the way you know he is experiencing the utmost comfort, and the way you don't resent it, because soon you'll be pushing him through the Kindergarten room door, and you won't be able to comfort him the way you used to.
Pretty is when everyone is getting along, and you feel like this awesome supermom.

And beauty is when you make your 6 year old share his bike, even when he really doesn't want to, and while he is crying, he comes up to you, silently, and takes your hand in his, of his own accord, for the first time in weeks.
I'm a girl, and sometimes I really need pretty. That's why I bought a pumpkin candle as soon as it was for sale. And why I felt a million pounds lighter yesterday when I finally got the boys' room organized.

I think that heaven will be pretty too. All the gold and perfectly measured everything.
But I think it will mostly be beautiful. So awesome, that it's a little scary. But in a way that makes you feel brave at the very same moment that you feel so small.


Life is really tiring right now. Everything just feels really...unfinished. And it is.


There are so many details that feel so important, and so many plates spinning that the crashing doesn't even feel surprising anymore.

I wonder, almost every day, if I'm doing it right. And every day, I open my Bible to read while I pump yet again, just to make enough milk for the 2 days a week I am separated from my baby. I read Ezekiel and Philippians. Prophecies of doom, and learning to be content.
And it feels so familiar, like a worn in shoe, and so new and hope filling.And so tiring. And I long for more.
And some days, when I am particularly tired, I pray that I would remember my first Love, and I ask God why He is often so quiet, and I ask Him if He loves me, even though I know the answer.
And just the other day, as I lay there, with the fan blowing, and my worn out body sinking into the mattress, and tears filling my eyes, I asked Him again.
Just as Greystoke rolled his body up on top of me, and lifted his head so his eyes met mine, and he writhed in his whole body grin, and I felt loved,

God sent help. Just when I needed it most.
And now I am off to scrub the oven, because it's not pretty. And to spend just a few minutes on the floor playing with The Dude, Because 3.5 years old is not pretty either, and he has been driving me up the wall lately,

But playing handyman with your son when he is wearing nothing but a tool belt and is 5 minutes away from his next meltdown?
That's beautiful.
And I'll take beautiful.

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