“I live my days feeling like they’re just slipping away, and I’m not making a difference in my teeny-tiny world for You.” – The prayer I scribbled out the morning of that day the tears wouldn’t stop spilling out.
Part, the moments of monotony and mess that often flood my days.
Someone always has a heart issue. (Yes, often it’s me!)
Someone always needs to be guided to the cross.
Someone always needs to be fed or clothed or helped with that Lego helmet that won’t come off or that ballet slipper that’s gone missing again.
Someone is always leaving messes of spilled juice, muddy socks, toothpaste smears, or a floor covered in Polly Pocket pieces.
Someone is always in need of a hug or an encouraging word or a stern mommy look that says, “Stop doing that right now” and yet “I still love you!”
Each morning I wake up to much of the same yuck and beauty that was there the day before.
And it’s easy to feel like all the training and loving and caring and disciplining and teaching of spelling words and refilling of sippy cups (over and over and over again) isn’t making a difference.
There’s nothing fancy or seemingly special about them. They’re not even the new version that has purple instead of the two blues. In fact they are the cups we go to by default, otherwise we’re fighting over the cool ones.
They’re often full of sticky fingerprints – globs of peanut butter and juice stains.
They’re all faded and worn.
And continually tipped over.
Being filled… being drank from… being washed… is their mundane existence.
Much like me.
To be of any value, this worn cup needs to first be filled.
And I have a choice as to what to fill it with… myself, this world, or the God who loves me.
If I keep filling it with myself, I’ll keep pouring and pouring and pouring, but never be satisfied.
If I fill it with this world, it could very well be poisoning.
But if I allow Him to fill my cup, His Spirit is in me.
And although maybe less than dazzling, little souls and big ones too, will most assuredly be thirsty.
They will drink from the cup, thirsty for every last drop.
But, with His power in me, I can now do it… give of time and energy and tears and grace… pour out truth and compassion and patience and mercy.
For even the tiniest drop, can be life altering.
And when I get full of the dirt and the grime of the day, I allow Him to cleanse me.
For then I am ready to be filled up once again.
Being filled… Being drank from… Being washed…
Those plastic tumbler cups are still faded and worn and sticky and tipped over. Yet, somehow happen to be our kids’ favorites.
And if I’m honest, they’re some of my favorites too.
For although they are worn – they show of their monotonous use and hidden value.
And although they’re continually knocked over – they’re sturdier than all the others.
And even if they fall from counter to floor, spilling liquid all over the vicinity of the kitchen – they haven’t broken yet.
And with six different colors – well, they’re perfect for our family. ;)
They are making a difference… so am I… so are you… whether china or plastic!
One drop at a time.