The ministry of snails..

     Why am I always so surprised by the requirements of marriage, the demands of parenting. This is the life of commitment after all. You stick it out, you’re present for the hard stuff. You always hold hands so when one of you slips the other is there to help you back up. But, every.damn.time it goes hard, it catches me off guard and I shrivel or retreat or both… or at least, that’s what I feel like doing.

     Our home life has gone through a bit of a wringer these past few months. I mean, I can cope with the daily battles, the personality clashes, the need for space. We are coming to the end of the school year here. Mom is emotional over her babies growing up, dad is pulled thin coming to the end of a ministry year, kids are just done with sitting and listening and schooling. Just give me a chance to breathe. 

“well, this is what we have for lunch for you so you’re going to have to make do.” 

“How long has this math homework been in your bag? when was this due?” 

“what math homework?”

Last year we got to the last month and my oldest came home saying he had to make an ugly stick. And my first thought was “Are you planning to beat someone with it?” ya, that level of fried man.

     In our house these last two months has been coxackie virus (HFM) or strep. Well, definitely strep for me. What the boys all had went undiagnosed because we have no GP here because, Northern problems, so it’s whoever you can get and one car and kids in school and having to call right at 8am to make an appointment for the doc on call and hear a busy signal for 45 minutes is really discouraging.

     But then the throats clear and we are out of the woods and then the bums go offline. No, that isn’t a euphemism for something. 2/3 of them got a rash on their butts. Help me Jesus. You haven’t lived until you have to put cream on your 8 year olds bum. “Truly I am alive, this is exhilarating" was a thought I had, never. And a misdiagnosed rash to boot. Have you ever had to fight for a doctor to properly treat your child? It’s exhausting. But we finally won that battle and just as he finished a week of antibiotics, the very next day, THE VERY NEXT DAY! he erupted in a rash all over his body. COME ON! Back to whichever doctor is on call that day and he is diagnosed with scarlet fever. I didn't even have the energy to question it. I am battle weary. Ok, more antibiotics. It’s not like it’s going to kill him if it’s not SF. Of course, then it felt like everybody and their monkey was questioning the validity of the diagnosis and thus my parenting choices which, I mean, makes me say all the bad words in my head.

     In the midst of all this medical happenings we had a kid with a new haircut that mommy did not want but gave anyways, an eye appointment with THE DROPS for another kid that is going to need glasses, and a kid getting picked on at school and having challenges connecting with other kids his age.

Me: Nah man, give me one of these things, just one. We can do one thing.

God: Actually, you’re getting all those things and each of them are going to touch a tender part in you and just as you think you’ve survived, your wounded heart from childhood is going to slap you in the face and I’m going to use your marriage to do it.

Me: I said pardon?

God: Waiting on me isn’t passive work my child. I am sifting you. Are you going to work with me? Or am I leaving you on the threshing room floor?

Me: Ok, but couldn’t you have given me a heads up before this all happened?

God: WHAT DO YOU THINK “CHRISTLIKE” MEANS? Is is something that happens only when you are ready?

Me: but

God: My child, these are the things I have for you. And you asked for them. You know you asked to know me more.

Me: yes, I did. I just don’t want it to hurt, I don’t want hard

God: no one ever does

Me: forgive me

God: I already did, remember?

     And I can breathe again. And again He calls me to wait. Six months I have prayed into wait. Not knowing the why’s or when’s or how’s. But, God called me to wait. What have I learned so far is that he wants me to slow down my spirit. We can live our physical lives in a hurried state, but our spiritual lives must be slowed, ready for deep breaths. Ready to hear Him. If our soul is hurried, if our spirit feels rushed our focus lands on anything but God. Our desires prove ill. 

     Before the end of the week that finished with a flourish of hurt, I went outside to plant some sprouts that had been gifted to me by our neighbour. I had neglected them and they were in danger of dying. Tomatoes, peppers, tomatillos, herbs, given in a slowed moment. While our kids were running around screaming, we had a moment to breathe and connect and my soul rested. So I got to work in potting these treasures and about half way through, I lifted a pot from the ground and hiding underneath was snail. One of the biggest I had ever seen in person so it would have been hard to miss. My hands were already filthy, black potting soil crammed under my nails, earth rubbed into the dry cracks in my knuckles and calloused fingers. I bent over and did something I have never done before. I was compelled, as if something -  someone was making me do it. I picked up that snail, by the shell I pinched it with my fingers and my world stopped. I stood there watching it, studying it as it stretched it’s body out. It’s eyes reaching beyond explanation to find it’s place, to make sense of where it was. It was so slow. So slow. And methodical. And plodding. And almost hypnotic in it’s movement.

A snail is in no need to rush, it knows nothing of time.

     Yes, I know snails are slow, this isn’t some witnessed miracle. The miracle here is that I witnessed it. I was really noticing a snail for the first time. God wanted me to stop and see what slow looks like, and do you know what? It looks like faith, it looks like calm, it looks like trust, it looks like doing, it looks like going. In that moment, everything slowed for me, my breathing, my heart, it was as if all around me was playing in a slow motion video. Then, without warning I was snapped out of it and the speed up returned as the boys were bouncing all around me. Iain touched the snails eyes and I told Carlon to tell daddy to get his camera. 

I can’t ever forget this moment.

     It is in those slow moments that go by fast where God has revealed more of himself to me. But only if I have the eyes to see, only if my heart is his. We’re always complaining about God’s timing but then chide ourselves and chant “God’s timing is perfect” and lo’ it is, it is. But if we’re going to be honest with our feelings and stop spouting Sunday school answers then maybe our honesty will get us to the sacred place. The real place. The place where blood dripped down. The place where sight is restored, legs made straight, dead come to life. We’ll admit we are in the valley of the shadow, or we’re on the mountain top and we can no longer hold our arms up, or we are bent over in laughter at God’s promise in our old dry-womb days.

Then, since he is holding our hands, he pulls us up to his timing, the slow faithful place. When we slow our hurried spirits, don’t we come more in step with his pace? Isn’t admitting God’s timing a cue for us to get in step with him? Call out to him, tell him your struggles, ask for more of him. 

Look for snails.