The Prodigal Seven

One of the natural consequences of a state-wide stay-at-home order is that it enforces – at the very least – a smaller space to live and breathe and think. No matter how many trips around the park for our “essential” exercise, or how many laps around our yard, the space is small, confining, in comparison to the roads and schedules we tread a few months ago. This confining brings simplicity to our routines and a focus to the things that are immediately pressing. For me, what’s pressing is three tiny people who need everything (everything!), and the ongoing saga of finding a home in our new city before our landlord gives us the boot. And let me tell you: When I’m distilled down to the dregs of myself in a forced confinement and confronted daily (hourly?) with my thoughts and feelings in parenting and home buying –  I’m left confronted by parts of myself that I’d rather not see.  

I’m an Enneagram Seven. Usually, that means I see the potential in everything - what it could be.  As a potential home buyer, it means 1000 things in a home I would change if I could. As a quarantined mom of preschoolers it means 1000 things that I can be doing to shepherd little hearts faithfully and 1000 ways proceed in lofty educational endeavors. Apparently, my Seven goes into hyperdrive when in a mandated stay-at-home order. And it may come as no surprise that the dark side of “seeing the potential in everything” can be “seeing the lack in everything” and refusing to accept what is as a gift. Instead, things must be improved, accomplished, refined, and perfected. Better. I say. It could be better.

And that’s not necessarily a good thing. Often, when Jesus could be doing, - improving, addressing, perfecting  - he was waiting. He was resting. He was praying. He was wasting. *GASP* No! Wasting!? The chief of all sins! But, he did. He wasted time before going to Bethany. He tarried in a garden. He wandered in a seriously incredibly long fast. He rested when it seemed like he should be doing. I think that’s one of the things that’s foreign to me about Jesus. 

I don’t waste time. I don’t really sit, come to think of it. Even right now, I’m typing this standing up. It takes a lot to get me to slow my roll. As I’ve had my roll literally slowed by the U.S. government and entered this mandated rest, I see how unrest is a constant temptation. What I’m doing with the kiddos - it’s not enough, is it? It’s not as good as it could be, anyway. What I’m looking for in a house – is it good enough?  And then there is what all this does to my own sense of self: I could be better, less critical, and more grateful. Inevitably, I’m humbled by the way this brokenness comes out in the way I parent. How I wish I could exchange all the ugly critical moments and unfair expectations of my kiddos for something that better reflected the heart of Jesus.  And maybe that's the best part of this quarantine, a chance to embrace a stillness, the gentleness of a slower pace for my kiddos and for myself.

I know it myself, truly, that there is so much good in a peaceful “enough.” In a house with tons of imperfections. It’s enough. In the heart or head still in process with a long way to go. It’s enough. I know it at the end of myself, truly, but what do little hearts need most but to be met where they are, loved before the fixing, before the best of themselves? To know that by God’s grace, they are enough. Remember the father in the story of the Prodigal Son? He ran to his son “while he was still a long way off.” Not when he was there at his doorstep or “when the repentant son was way further along in his spiritual journey than his father expected.” Nope. He was still a long way off.

I’ve been reading 40 Days of Decrease through Lent, and I found this passage incredibly relevant to my current state:

“In the words of Rabbi Abraham Hershel, ‘Labor is a craft, but perfect rest is an art.’ Those who have lost loved ones may need to linger in that favorite old chair. The one who has suffered a miscarriage may need to give herself permission to mourn instead of rushing to put everything away. The entrepreneur may need unhurried days...to reminisce as he packs up an office after an unsuccessful business venture.”

It may come as no surprise (to those who are good at waiting) that there’s a purpose in lingering. In slowing down and embracing the gift of what is without dwelling on the way it could be made more efficient, more productive, more... So, here I am, a Seven trying to find contentedness and stillness and rest. These are things that can be hard in trying to buy a home in a vast city and in endeavoring to teach preschoolers. I obviously don’t think God wants my desires, nor my propensities for improvement, to be wiped clean; I just think a natural good thing can be distorted and taken into unhealthy directions and, frankly, be made an idol. I think God just wants to smooth out the harsher edges, gently shaping me into something a little more rested and a little more content. Honestly, I am still a long way off, but the funny thing is—I think the remedy is stillness and simplicity. This quarantine is small, confining, and difficult in many ways. I’d never chose it for myself, but possibly, if I’m attentive to the invitation to rest, there is a grace in it for me that is just what the government ordered. 

- Jennie Kologe