I want to weigh more. I think I’m on the right road with my current diet. I start out my day healthy: two pieces of whole wheat toast in the morning; low-sugar jelly with no butter; yogurt with a banana or my mid-morning snack, a Lean Cuisine for lunch. Then, I begin compensating for any sleep lost with some sugar. Hopefully I have some chocolate on hand. Towards the end of the day, when my metabolism starts slowing down, I strategically begin eating chips. Cheese makes any meal worth eating, so, sprinkle, sprinkle. A couple of hours before bed I bring out the serious stuff: a chocolate chip cookie or two, or some chocolate-chip banana bread if I have some on hand. Loading the end of the day with calories seems to be working.
No, my BMI chart doesn’t suggest that I should weigh more. Nor does my on-the-edge cholesterol levels or my family history loaded with hypertension and heart disease. It’s basically my daily routine that whispers (some days screams) the suggestion to me. Allow me to illustrate the routine if it isn’t clear to you: Get out of bed, drop the kids off to school – watch stuff fall out of the van at both stops – then head to work. Tour Rapid City between pick-ups and drop-offs for my kids’ activities, go home to the wreckage left from getting ready that morning, then, as my friend Debbie would say, move stuff around the house. Stare at the refrigerator wondering if any still creatures might come to life for dinner, then do dishes, laundry, math games. The final curtain call: tip over into bed. Then, start again the next morning.
I want my life to weigh more. Can this drab, ordinary routine be the context for greatness? For weighty impact on others? Can touring Rapid City change things, touch others’ lives? I know, I know. I can use this as valuable bonding time with my kids because they are a captive audience, but what if they aren’t speaking to me that day? Or what if the drool running down the side of my mouth is the only fount of spiritual wisdom and guidance that is springing forth that day? Perhaps this points to my lack of exercise, but have you ever wondered what the lives of those that marked our world with magnificence looked like? Really? Soccer practice, math games, kitty litter? Office jobs, errands, grocery shopping?
Consider what Paul has to say in 2 Thessalonians 1, 11-12: “Because we know that this extraordinary day is just ahead, we pray for you all the time – pray that our God will make you fit for what he’s called you to be, pray that he’ll fill your good ideas and acts of faith with his own energy so that it all amounts to something”. (2 Thessalonians 1:11-12, The Message)
Notice, there’s a twist. It didn’t say, “Pray that your good ideas and acts of faith will be great enough to amount to something”. It said, pray that “he’ll fill your good ideas and acts of faith with his own energy so that it all amounts to something”. Now I don’t really understand what this all means. But doesn’t the text seem to suggest that, without His energy, acts of faith are meaningless? Could it be that the acts he’s referring to are somewhat ordinary in nature?
I have pondered this subject during many a van trip. What if my good ideas aren’t very good? What if my acts of faith are somewhat…faithless? How does all of this add up to something that makes a mark? Really all I can come up with is this: it seems to me that greatness isn’t about doing great things. I’m not even convinced of the maxim, “Greatness is about doing small things in great ways”. I think, somehow, God makes great out of ordinary things. For some reason, He uses ordinary things as building blocks in His kingdom. Somehow, they have weight.
Consider the English language. Its building blocks are ordinary markings on a page – ink blobs – that mean very little until someone breathes into them. Makes sentences out of them. Puts emotion into them. Uses them to communicate something meaningful.
For some reason, God has chosen ordinary things as the characters in His language. Simply put, He uses ordinary things to get things done. He uses them to talk to people. To show people what He’s up to. Van trips “a”. Peanut butter cleanups “b”. Dishes “c”. Kitty litter “d”. Fixing a printer jam “e”. Complimenting a co-worker on her new blouse “f”. Treating the restaurant waiter nicely “g”. Finishing the sales report at work “h”. Listening to a friend vent about problems “i”. Making a meal for someone laid up from surgery “j”. God breathes into these things, and he makes sentences out of them. Uses them to communicate something meaningful. He makes them amount to something. Something that has weight.
We know the letters of the alphabet well, but how do we see the sentences behind them? How do we reconcile the discrepancies we see between the drab and the magnificent? Perhaps God doesn’t see the same discrepancies we do. Perhaps it takes faith to believe that the mundane matters. Bucket loads of faith. Way more than I seem to have on hand most days. The text does suggest there is some sort of asking involved- praying that the daily drab will morph into significance. Perhaps asking has the mysterious outcome of adding weight to our lives, but as importantly, producing the ability to see the weight our lives have with His energy at work.
I think it’s time to put away my bag of chips. I guess there are better ways to gain weight. Besides, I have to run my kids to choir practice.
©2010, Amy Gusso
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