On March 14th my kids and I left the house to visit my parents for spring break. I packed for 5 days away from home. . . which means I had enough to last for 10 days. But honestly I thought this would be a quick trip north to visit grandparents, play on the family farm and head home in time for my daughters dance class. We were worried about cramming in all the details of a visit in such a short time, playing with friends, going to museums, hiking, first outing to the bakery, and lots of grandma treats.
Little did I know that the country would literally shut down while we were here. Everything we wanted to cram into this visit came to a stop. We have been here 14 days social distracting and self-quarantining on the farm. I actually had to buy the kids rain boots because I only packed their tennis shoes for our short trip and it has been raining for days.
So today in our new rain boots we went for a hike. It was simple and filled with laughter. My kids had such a beautiful spirit of adventuring. Then we found a mud pit and a puddle and then it was a muddy puddle the size of a kiddy pool. They were laughing and jumping and singing and kicking in the rain. Their was no worry, fear, and no anxiety. Just pure joy.
I, on the other hand, was cold, damp and my toes felt like they were about to fall off. As I watched my Kids play and I pulled them out of the mud pit, that was sucking them and their boots into a quick sand abyss of smelly mud, I was trying to remind myself that the now not-so-new-rain-boots were meant to be wet and muddy and filled with water.
Every so often my muddy children would stop look over their shoulder at me with the sweetest smile and then continue giggling and playing. But as they got muddier and I got colder I noticed they would look at me pause and ask: “Mommy, you happy?” “Mommy, This is fun right?”
Their questions set off a recording in my head of a phrase a friend taught me years ago. This friend of mine mentored men who struggled with all sorts of addictions. He once told me that as he sat there listening to the men he mentored he would have to constantly say to himself:
“What is my face saying?”
He was aware that his resting and thinking face often looked like he was appalled or disgusted with what he was hearing or seeing. But he never wanted his mentees to think he felt that way about them. He would concentrate on keeping a facial expression that expressed hope to these men.
Here I was watching my children love the muddy mess they were and enjoying every bit of God’s creation. In the depths of my heart I was delighting in how beautiful they were, but my face was not saying that. . . My face was saying: “you have ruined your boots in less then an hour.” “i’m going to have to work those stains out of your pants for hours.” “I am too cold to stand here” because my face is more connected to my brain, my worries, and my anxiety then to my heart.
And my sweet children could read what my face was saying more than what my heart was feeling. And in the boldness of childhood innocence they asked: “Mommy, this is fun?” Which I know really means. . . “Mommy, are you delighting in us?”
I pray they never stop asking me what my heart is feeling when my face isn’t speaking delight.
May you continue to ask yourself: “What is my face saying?” So that your eyes will be opened to the thoughts and worries that are consuming you. Then turn your eyes to Jesus and see what his His face is saying. See, that the Creator of the universe delights in you. He is not worried, or anxious. No, he is simply free to delight in you because He knows that He has a plan for your good.
What is your face saying?