Some of my favorite moments in my relationship with God are those when his guidance is simple and practical. Down-to-earth, for lack of a better term. Or maybe there isn't a better term, because he does actually interact with me down here on earth each day. Jesus was down-to-earth in the most literal sense. Ours is a God who meets us where we are, even in the small and sometimes boring details.
Yesterday, he helped liberate me from the tyranny of housework. (Forgive my melodrama, I just stress about it more than seems to be normal or healthy. I actually have burst into spontaneous tears over it, much to my husband's surprise and dismay.) I came home from work with a headache and flopped onto our bed for a nap, planning on being productive when I got up. And then that moment came when the alarm went off and I actually had to summon up the stamina to regroup and face the music, er, laundry and dishes and trash to go out. (My husband was out of town, he would otherwise have helped me.) As I lay there trying to motivate myself, I heard a different and refreshing perspective: "Stephanie, why don't you stop worrying so much, and instead go get some exercise. Do something you enjoy. It's ok to let it sit for a little while." I needed to hear that, that God doesn't want or expect me to be so rigid, even with respect to my duties and my efforts to be a good wife. He knew I needed permission to be human, and sometimes humans get worn down and the house just has to stay imperfect for a day longer. (Especially third-trimester pregnant humans.)
Instead of the tiring, monotonous evening I expected, I was given the gift of an enjoyable work-out and a replenishing night of rest. In addition, he reminded me to make the most of my last days of pre-child freedom, something I often forget to relish but know I will soon miss.
I am so grateful that God was watching me on an ordinary weeknight, and that like a loving parent he stooped down to take my hand and pick me up.
