Adventures and Lists

I have a confession to make.  I'm a total list-maker.

I have another confession to make.  I never remember my lists.

See, I make grocery lists, but if by some miracle they end up in the car with me on the way to store, I'll still manage to forget them by the time I've gotten INTO the actual store.  It's a true gifting.  I also make lists of things that need to get done in a day, but as I get zero satisfaction out of crossing things off my list, I usually forget about them by 9am until I clean off the counter and find today's list, yesterday's, and last week's.  Point in fact, I found nine different lists from the last week alone this morning while cleaning the kitchen.  Again I say, I have a gift.

Don't get me wrong, I think lists are good and useful, I'm just not one of those people who find them particularly HELPFUL.  I find them good for organizing my thoughts, making me feel accomplished because my lists are long, they're prioritized, and (usually) they're color coordinated, which makes them PRETTY, and that is the true definition of good, right?

Thing is, I married a list guy.  If there's a list, he has to finish every last thing on it before drinking a cup of coffee, reading a book to a kid, or taking out the garbage... unless that was on the list, in which case he will dutifully accomplish the task, tick it off the list, and move on.  For him, lists are like an army drill sergeant and there is no way of NOT doing everything on them.  I learned about his list compulsions early on.  For me, lists are just pretty, inanimate objects that help me organize my plan of attack, but never much beyond that.  For him, lists are dynamic, compelling things that regulate every moment between now and when that list is finished.

Todd was gone for a whole week a bit ago.  I did all the washing in the whole house, three times.  I did not, however, put said clean clothes away.  They sat, folded and ready, I just kept forgetting the last step.  I'm terrible with the final follow-throughs.  I don't see a problem, though, in getting clean underpants from the laundry baskets as opposed to the underwear drawer.  I know my husband though, and a week of that would have driven him nuts.  So before Todd got home I sat with a coffee I had already reheated four times, to start actually tackling THE LISTS.

As I sat, writing out page after page (literally, because these were color coded, thus each general activity, household DIY, cleaning, kids, etc, needed it's own page- duh!), it struck me that these lists will do two things: 1) suck up at least an hour of my day because I'll be tormented I forgot to put something on some list, and then forget them in the corner by the desk and 2) Todd will inevitably find them and then have heart palpitations because there are things on there that ARE NOT DONE.

So instead of continuing writing my lists with all my pretty colored-pens, I ate a scone and sat with Harper, going through pictures and writing this, because writing was WAY more fun than lists.  Harper is learning letters and so typing is a great joy with her right now.  Well, it is for about the first dozen questions, then it's just an exercise in self-restraint.  But as I sat here, thinking of all these things, lines from a Jason Mraz song came to my mind:

And just like them old stars
I see that you've come so far
To be right where you are

Right where we are is good.  It's next to each other.   Actually, clinging would be a better descriptor.  We're sorting through some things.  Things that are tough, things that feel impossible, but things that need to be sorted and we serve an impossibly good God.  The lists will very, very soon start to flow, and this time, we'll have to stick to them.  Lists of what to pack and what to sell, which friends we still need to connect with and what we still need to buy at a particular store because, you see *deep, deep breath Britts* we're moving.  For a thousand big and small reasons, we will be returning to the United States next month.  We don't know much of anything beyond that statement.  First on the list:  Find a destination to land.  Second on the list:  Find a job (two if we need to but I'm still begging God to let me stay with my kids, especially in the transition).  We have no clear direction in any particular way, nothing urgent hurrying on our return.  We just know that we're in the center of God's will, we have His peace and that's all we need.  This is right, even though it's worse than hard and no one is looking forward to leaving.  I'm sure there will be more posts, more explanations, more conversations.  For now, though, I'm taking a break before the lists threaten to overwhelm me to gain a bit of perspective, and a bit of support.  We have a month left in South Africa and I know there will be tears and battles and kicking and screaming, and not all will be from the kids.  Would you come alongside us and pray with us, for us when we can't?  Because we're in that place... that place where prayers are made up of tears and the sound of your heart ripping in two or ten or 2,367 pieces and it'd be nice to know that we're loved, supported, prayed for and that even when we can't, His will and way are being sought for on our behalf.

If you commit to pray with us through this, please, please remember these little babes through all the upheaval coming their way... in the middle of winter no less when they have been looking forward to summer (we've only had winter/spring for over a year) and swimming and riding bikes and hiking and climbing.