What a week. Let’s start with a moment of silence, if you will, for Velma: our sweet, 15+ year old Honda Odyssey who left us this week for the streets of gold…
Did she shake when we drove above 70mph? Sure. Was her interior covered in a fine sheen of dog hair and goldfish crumbs? Absolutely. Would we have passed an e-check? Not likely. But she was ours, she toted my kids plus a few more all over creation & she kept them safe until the end.
We will miss you, Velma.
But seriously. So, so grateful for God’s protection and provision this week. It’s been a week of not taking the “nothings” for granted for sure – safe kiddos and reliable transportation in particular.
I also have had my own version of Paul’s thorn in the flesh, only for me it was a pencil and the flesh was the area between my fingernail and finger. 10 days later and we’re still oozing unmentionables, so I gave up my alternative medicine and started the antibiotic. Sigh. Should we also have a moment of silence for my gut flora? … probably not, that seems like a bit much.
Then there was the boy’s haircut debacle. Fun fact- you save $100 when you have three boys and learn to cut their hair at home. More fun fact: turns out, I’d happily pay twice that to avoid the trauma of the experience. Did I survive? Yes. Did I call my mother practically in tears to come over and fix the disaster that was my children’s heads? Also yes. I told my mom that for Christmas, I’m buying her a book entitled “All the Time I Called You in a Blind Panic – 2025 Edition”. It’ll be one of those photo albums with picture, date and time of these calls. It promises to be a best seller, I assure you. That woman is earning a sainthood.
So what is God teaching me in all this?
Honestly, I have no idea.
Which really doesn’t bode well, I should probably figure it out soon, I worry to myself when it all feels a bit too “white-knuckled”. But I think if I had to summarize my conversations with my Heavenly Father over the past week or so, they’d go something like –
“God, this is a bit much…”
“Trust Me”
“God, I’m starting to freak out a bit. Am I doing this right?”
“Just… Trust Me”
“God, the children are beginning to revolt and the husband is acting suspect at best…”
“So first off, he’s the best husband you’re ever going to get, and you torture him more than he has ever deserved… secondly: Trust Me”
And on and on it goes. I used to think my character was going to be forged through majestic moments of saint-like suffering. Now, I’m beginning to fear that it’s in these moments – sawdust left in rental vans and children screaming for fruit snacks – that God is actually doing the work of making me holy. Because while I find mountain-sized loads of grace for mountain-sized problems, the day to day pockets I need for the day to day problems… you gotta look for those boogers. And I so often don’t want to spend the time, to my own shame, until the final straw begins to break my proverbial back.
So, as my friend told me, we’re in a “bulking season” over here. But instead of free-flowing calories and carbohydrates, we’re learning to load up on patience and trust in providence. To snack on grace and feast on prayer. All the food analogies, but I think you get the idea.
I hope you had your own lovely adventures these past two weeks. Help my engagement out & pop your own stories of bite-sized grace below 🍿🤪 But wherever life takes you, I hope you have safe travels and a lovely Thanksgiving this next week!
Love always,
Kelsey
Miracles Enough 