I find myself of two minds concerning the mounds of LEGO pieces strewn about my office floor.
On the one hand, this is all I’ve ever dreamed of, the peak of the parenting mountain. Both of my girls are so delighted by the literal construction of magical worlds that they can hardly bring themselves to end their imaginative play. Castles and creatures and storybook creations stand in various degrees of completion, surrounded by tiny LEGO people dead set on tea parties and weddings and the like. A unicorn has been transformed into a peacock so many times that, at present, it exists as some unholy amalgamation of the two.
Am I happy that my children love the things I love, delve into stories the way I delve into stories, surround themselves with the literal building blocks of imagination, and can barely stand to stomach an end to the flow of creativity? Yes. Yes, I am.
So, that’s the one hand.
On the other hand, my entire office floor has been unnavigable for the better part of the last two months. The cats can’t even pick their way across this carpeted expanse. Am I happy about that? No. Not at all.
And so, I stand before this chaotic clutter of colorful bricks and sigh. Mostly, because if I didn’t sigh, I’d yell, something to the effect of, “Clean this stuff up now!”
It’s an amazing thing that the human mind can behold that which exemplifies all it hoped for, evidence that points to the good, and yet still fixate only on the bad. It’s an amazing thing that I can stand in my office and witness proof that our girls are awesome, that they’re clearly taking after me (in at least some unenviable ways), and still I fixate on how untidy the floor is.
It’s an amazing thing that our God can pour out blessings in abundance, shower us in graces — good health, flourishing relationships, opportunities for growth and delight — and still we are distracted by mundane problems.
It’s an amazing thing, and also a pretty normal and understandable one. Because while a part of me delights in the sight of all those LEGO pieces, another part — namely, my two feet — needs to be able to reach my desk to work. We may all be able to name those blessings that God bestows upon us while also rattling off our unique and overwhelming struggles.
I think that’s important and right. God dwells not only in the beauty and joy of our lives but in the mess of it all, too. God is in all things.
But I do think there is an important spiritual disposition to reflect upon bound up in all this: that of gratitude. Importantly, we begin in gratitude. We stand upon the threshold of our proverbial offices, overwhelmed by the number of LEGO pieces, but all the same start with words of thanksgiving: Even these irritating obstacles point to our God who has given us good things.
And then we go about the work of cleaning up the mess. Of tackling our problems. Of repairing our relationships. Of caring for our health and our world. And we do so in the company of our God of countless blessings.
I wonder: Does beginning in gratitude ground whatever follows in our God who loves us? I know that cajoling our girls to clean up those LEGO pieces takes on a new hue when I begin by remembering what a gift they are, what a gift their creativity and imagination is. I’m reminded of the good — even amidst the mess — and of why it matters, what it points to.
Perhaps, at my best, I see not simply a clutter of colorful toys but a whole story arc, the development of my children, a glimmer of who they might yet be.
I wonder if, at your best, when you bump up against the inevitable messes of life, if a defiant disposition of gratitude doesn’t help you glimpse something more, something beautiful. I wonder how that holy insight might change what happens next.
