Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a town and spend a year there, doing business and making money.” Yet you do not even know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wishes, we will live and do this or that.”
James 4:13-15

There was a plan for this week. And a post for Wednesday, a post for Thursday . . . but none of that happened. Sometimes, in living this “Lord willing,” “Unforced Rhythms of Grace” way of life, the Lord’s not willing. Or maybe it’s just that the washing machine decided to flood the downstairs bathroom and hallway. And, after a week of living with what the ServPro guys called “a jet engine” sucking water out of our floors, with kids coughing and snotting everywhere, with all of us yelling at each other just to be heard–and I was the mother walking around my house with noise-canceling headphones on trying to stay sane–the Lord was still not willing. Or maybe, it was just the sub-floors that weren’t willing to dry out.

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When they finally cut out the floors down to the concrete, and gutted my one finished, pretty bathroom, I teared up a little. Because sometimes floors aren’t floors–they’re a gift from my dad. And a bathroom’s not just a bathroom. It’s the one finished room Jack’s dad helped completely finish before he went to heaven. And in this house where I have learned to be grateful for the undone and the broken and the barely-holding-together, I clung to the pretty, finished floors and that tiny powder room with the pedestal sink and the vintage shelf my mom bought for me before Abraham’s baptism. Silly, I know. But I’m just a girl who loves a boy, and we’re fixin’ up this little house of dreams. And it’s taking a long time, much longer than I could have imagined.

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And before you put in the comment box, “Well, at least Sam’s healthy,” and I respond back with a very non-Christian reply, know full-well that I have perspective. I get that this isn’t a bad doctor’s appointment or a death. I know I’m being just a little silly. But sometimes, even when we’ve waged a thousand battles, it’s getting out of bed on a sunny day that proves the hardest. It’s the small and the everyday that bring us to tears, not the fire-breathing dragons we slay with unflinching bravery.

So, when the Lord’s not willing, and the week’s been chopped up down to the concrete, pour yourself a cup of tea and run a bubble bath and cry into the suds if you have to. Make your batch of cookie dough; chill the wine. Praise God that we’re all still breathing; then let the tears trickle.

Praise the Lord, oh my soul, as they cut out the hardwoods.

Praise the Lord for silly when it could be so much worse.

Praise the Lord who comforts both those who mourn and those who take a moment to cry over ruined flooring.

I’m so very grateful He loves all of me.

Taylor