I suppose the title brings unexpected pregnancy to mind. I have been thinking to day of the iron cage of planned life. I seems that if we as modern American could say in a word what makes for a good life it would be that it is planned. It is in are planning in minutiae, perhaps more than the culture of death, that makes the Unexpected pregnancy such a big deal. Perhaps, all this planning is the origin of the culture of death?
Perhaps, this only my way of justifying what is anything but a planned exsistence: The dishes all over the kitchen, the dried boogers on Simeon's nose, and the lapse in thoughtful replies to old friends conform to no aesthetic. If when the day is done we are not any steps closer to financial ruin, we can still get to our beds at night, and our children have been kept sound--we count it a successful day, crawl into bed and comment that "Tomorrow we need to wash these sheets."
But, I do think that the whole project of creating shalom in our homes, and in our sub-conscious does tend to mitigate against (at least sometimes) being agents of shalom in our worlds, and churches, and amongst our friends, and old tired bothersome family members [the one's who no longer look cute with strawberry Jelly smeared on their faces.]
All that said. I'd really like to get organized. I'd really like to enact a plan. And I am hoping the next month things will look more sane and our house could reflect a hospitable welcome. But, I still suspect that upon coming into our homes you might first be welcomed by two toddlers with noses still red from a recent bogger scrubbing (one of whom could tell you if you asked her about the mess that is hiding up in Mama and Dada's room.
No comments:
Post a Comment