Early Sunday morning, before the crowds of kids woke up, I went for a walk.  Before French toast and dirty dishes and washing kids' hair before church...before wardrobe checks to make sure no one still has their pajamas on under their coat (yes this has happened)...before checking fingernails for mud (Someone always manages to pass me by on this)... Before the frenzy of the day, I went for a walk.   

And I found this.

In the Mud.  Just frozen mud.

I like mud.  It reminds me of clay and sculpting and big messes with creative children and I love that.  

It also reminds me of mud puddle stomping in the half-frozen springtime with my friend Joy.  We each had a tall pair of rubber boots, perfect for stomping through frigid, crystallized mud lakes down the hill from her house.  But my boots had leaky zippers on the sides.  So we shared our boots;  each taking one waterproof boot, and pushing our stockinged feet into two long plastic bread bags, then into the leaky boots, then into an old five-gallon bucket.  We'd wrap an arm around each other and three-legged race it through puddles and ponds, cold, splashing, wet, and gloriously happy.   

We always fell.  

Our moms never complained about the mess. 

This Sunday morning, when I found these crystal jewels of frozen snowflakes in the mud, I smiled.    It was just a muddy, dirt road.  That's all.  But that's life.  We're all stuck in it together, muddy fingernails, leaky boots, and all.  Glorious, messy life.
 
I hope you can find the crystal jewels of perfection in your muddy life today.  And if you have leaky boots,  I hope you have a friend with a five gallon bucket.  

Yesterday, after supper, I flopped down in exhaustion.  Right on the armchair like Raggedy Ann.  It had been one heck of a day.  Not that it was unique or anything.   I am 49 years old, and I have a lot of kids.  Exhaustion is my middle name.


“Mom!” a teenager comments,  “I didn’t know you could sit like that!”


I was too tired to care.  Yes, even old moms flop on chairs and put their feet up.  Within seconds, I had dozed off.  


“Michelle?”  I hear a small voice.  “Michelle?”  


I open my eyes just a crack, and see Small One standing near me.  She is holding a clipboard, and wearing glasses and her sister’s long, white, button-down sweater.  This can only mean one thing.  


“Michelle?  Are you ready for your doctor’s appointment?”  


Oh dear.  


It’s my fault.  I could have been promoting her possible future career as a hair stylist or masseuse.  If I had done that, maybe she would be standing by my chair, wanting to rub my feet.  But no.  This kid’s been told her whole life that if she wants to, she can be a doctor. 


So she’s here to draw my blood.


With a pencil.


I smile wanly as she takes my arm and pushes up my sleeve.


“See, that didn’t hurt much!” she says, taping a bandage to the inside of my elbow.  She begins to question me, writing notes furiously on her clipboard.  She confers with her sister, who is playing the nurse.  They whisper back and forth about my being tired and having sore feet.  She examines the pencil, holding it up to the light and peering intently.  


“O.K. The blood test results are in,”  the little doctor says.  “and I have great news:  


You’re pregnant!”
​

“I” am the only difference between Running and Ruining my life.  


I can run it.


I can ruin it.


I.

I cannot get Robert Frost's poem out of my mind today.  

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

I did go miles.  And miles.  My feet were frozen, my hands numb.  But the woods were silent as a whisper, soft flakes floated down from the silver sky.  They settled on my camera lens, melted into blurry spots on each picture I took.  

The snowstorm was breathtaking.    

Yesterday, during a very foggy walk, I noticed a weed.  I judged it to be nothing but a dried up old weed on the side of the road.  It was not beautiful, it was not unique, it was not wanted by anyone.  Just an old weed, that's all.  Not even worth noticing.

But last night, God, in his mercy, decided that old weed was worthy. So when the misty fog of heaven came down, the old and the dead became transformed.  

Beautiful.  

In fact, an entire field of weeds was transformed in the dark, crystallized in glorious perfection.  Together, the weeds reflected the pure light of the sun.  It was dazzling.

It doesn't matter what people might have said or thought or how they may have judged this weed yesterday.  Because today, God's mercy extends to the lowliest.

And mercy triumphs over judgement.

No words today.  Just this: