Burnt Butter

Well, here I am again. Neglecting the thing that I absolutely, definitely should be doing so that I can write.

I just received an assignment at 6pm that needs to be in everyone’s inboxes first thing in the morning. I held and rocked and prayed my baby would sleep so that I could start on it right away and send it out. It isn’t a big task or a difficult one, just an urgent one. As I type this, I see the moments stolen during bedtime while I mentally went over my to do list.

It’s the little things that are thief’s. The little things that are stolen. It’s the anxiety around a work assignment and the toys all over the floor and crap piling up on the table. It distracts and unties you from the little miracle of right now. You miss out on the small coos and the curious reaches and the grace of being the one to hold your child as he drifts off.

I’ve been getting frustrated lately. Every task seems to be half done, left untied and unkept. There are two journal entries that sit half written because Roman needed me. My actual journal barely touched. My book unread. The quiet moments are loud and the daily rituals unfinished.

And everytime I try to cook, I burn the butter. Every. Time.

I just started a new job and it’s demanding, far more demanding than my last one.

I prayed the end of January for more stability for Roman and myself. I was working a commission job and though it was easy and I did well enough, I wanted the security of a salary and work that didn’t feel quite so meaningless. Two weeks later, I was sitting in an office with an incredible view, being offered my dream job. Well, not really my dream job (that would be ministry) but a job that felt tailored to my skills. I would be at the top of my field, full freedom to enact my ideas and run my team as I saw fit. It came with a salary and exciting opportunities for growth.

I talked to my dad about it. How it would provide more stability for Roman, how I could really start to save for his future. It would mean more hours in the office but it was a hybrid schedule and I could make it work.

He advised me against it. My dad said my current job was simple enough and if I wanted a change, I should go for a low level job that didn't demand too much. That I would burnout. That I would fail.

I saw his point. Being a full time mother is no joke, it comes with a thousand little tasks and the mental load is exhausting. A demanding job on top of that could be a recipe for failure. I could miss out on the little miracle of right now.

I prayed about it, reverently.

Roman needs me. I’ll be back.

God told me to take the position. That He had something in the works and I needed to trust Him. So I did. I took it.

That night after I signed the contract, I sat in the sanctuary in one of my favorite places in the world and stared at the cross made of sticks. What if I do fail? What if I convinced all these people that I’m brilliant and that I can do this and I can’t?

God directed me to John 21.

Early in the morning, Jesus stood on the shore, but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus.

He called out to them, “Friends, haven’t you any fish?”

“No,” they answered.

He said, “Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.”

When they did, they were unable to haul the net in because of the large number of fish.

I still get chills thinking about this moment. In that sanctuary, alone, on a random Wednesday night, my life changed.

My whole life has been about performance. Being smart and clever and just the right amount of funny. Finding the right thing to say and the right thing to wear and the right way of operating in this world. I have always struggled with being present because I have lived so much of my life through external eyes peering in. In this moment, on that wooden pew staring at that wooden cross, I understood. This life, this beautiful little life I have been given, isn’t about me performing or being brilliant. It’s about Him.

Prayer is often seen as requesting shit from God. We sit and hold our hands together and ask for something. Money. A job. Forgiveness. From what I have observed, prayer much like love, is an action. It is entering into a still quiet space with the Lord and listening. And then moving.

“Cast your net on the other side of the boat”

That is what is being asked of me in this season. To trust and move forward and live out this next year of my life in the understanding that all of this - whether I see it or not - is for the glory of the kingdom. All it takes is movement.

I’ve been struggling to find a balance with that. How to hold everything that is in motion with open hands. To not become attached to an outcome. To keep Roman and the people I love at the center, no matter how big the demand is on my shoulders.

It can feel stifling to code switch from the masculine world at work to the feminine world of motherhood. It feels like I live two separate lives at times. At work I am calculated and performance driven and managing several high level projects at once. Then I come home to my son and my dog and the dishes in the sink and need to slow down. Be present. Hold space for Roman’s curious inquiries and Flynn’s need to play fetch and my own desire for a soft home. It can feel impossible.

There’s this scene in the Alchemist. The boy asks the alchemist what the meaning of life is. They have just come upon a beautiful palace and the alchemist gives the boy a spoon of oil. He tells him to hold the spoon as he walks around the palace and then report back. The first day, the boy does as he’s told and returns to the alchemist. After the alchemist asks the boy what he thinks of the palace, the boy reports that he was so fixated on not spilling the spoon of oil, he doesn't remember anything from the palace.

The alchemist gives the boy another spoon of oil and instructs him to enjoy the palace this time. When the boy reports back, he is in awe of the beauty of the palace. He speaks of the incredible things he has seen and the impact it had on him. They look down. The spoon of oil is now empty, the oil having spilled while the boy explored.

“The secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world, and never to forget the drops of oil on the spoon.” - Paulo Coelho

In my sweet little world right now, the marvels are new teeth and growing curls and a curious reach towards whatever is in my hand. It is running on the beach with my dog and pointing out the dolphins to my son and stealing a moment to close my eyes in the sunlight. The wonders are small and simple and fleeting. The glorious and sacred little miracles of right now. I am still learning to balance the spoon in my hand, to hold all of it as sacred. Even the mundane and trivial drops of oil.

I am grateful for the unfinished tasks and messy home and the burnt butter. Remnants of a glorious life that is being lived rather than polished.

I can have a perfect life or I can have a magical one. Not both.