Thursday, August 4, 2011

Bigger Picture Moments: The Smallest Jobs

Simple BPM

"Do small things with great love."
Mother Teresa of Calcutta

"Mommmmmyyyy!" my 3 year old cries. "He's doing it again!"

I drop the dishes into the sink and run into the dining room only to find a grinning nearly 20 month old dancing atop of the dining room table.

I thought we'd broken this habit several months ago.

But, oh, dear God, he's at it again.

And with such determination; it seems that every time anyone leaves the dining room abandoned for a moment, E. climbs back onto the table and begins executing his sweet toddler dance moves, sans any audible music.

But he grooves so happily, so intentionally that I swear he's hearing the beats, the melodies of songs in his heart.

I put on my I-mean-business-mommy face before gathering his excited body into my arms and escorting him off of the table.

"E.," I say sternly, staring into his big blue smiling eyes, "we do NOT dance on the table."

He keeps smiling.

And the next time I leave the room, G's hollering again that his little brother's back on the table dancing his heart out like it's his job or something.

And, kind of, it is -- a toddler's main job in life is to explore, connect the dots, put things together.

I mean, really, the kid has no idea that tables aren't meant for dancing.

So he keeps climbing back on top and getting down with his small self because he loves it.

He just loves dancing on the tables, and it's vividly clear, this passion of his.

Honestly, he loves just about everything he does, entering into each activity with open palms, open heart, open eyes.

I look at myself in all of my adultness and think about how I set about doing my own work.

I think about how I scoff at folding the trillions of socks overflowing from the laundry basket without so much as giving thanks for the small feet that fill them.

I think about how I quickly wipe down finger-printed windows, never really appreciating that there are finger prints on there from two little blessings.

I think about how I become slightly irritated by the dozen or so sippy cups scattered around the house, never feeling grateful for the hands that hold them, the mouths that drink from them.

And I think about how I miss the wonder in the small parts of my job. And how I see things only for what they are sometimes and miss altogether the meaning behind them, making it impossible to really grasp the joy, dance my heart out in adoration of the tasks at hand.

Maybe I've just placed too many sanctions on too many things to really find the joy enveloping them. Maybe I don't really see what's laid out before me.

Maybe table tops really are meant for dancing.

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{Originally written but never posted in April 2011.}