Kitchen sinks and Emmanuel

Sometimes I avoid writing here because I don't have a blasted moment to myself to think. Ever. But sometimes I don't write because I haven't made sense of where I am and don't have inspiring, intellectual insights to offer from the concrete realities of my day-to-day.

But I read this a few days ago, and realized that I, too, in my own smaller way, often usually almost always try to quietly make sense of IT ALL in my own head before sharing with another soul. I have done this my whole life.

I don't want to subtly remove myself from my story, from my present moment-by-moment, from the snotty noses and fierce hugs, just to try to make sense of it all in some grandiose way. The truth is that I don't really have the perspective to see things in a grandiose way right now. I can't see much beyond the piles of sheet rock in the basement and the next meal.

I was talking with a dear soul a few nights ago, and she told me a beautiful story. Like me, her life is overflowing with the mundane miracles of caring for three young children and trying to remember to seek God in the midst of it. She was able to escape her four walls for a retreat-like service of worship, and she asked the Lord, 'Where can I find you?'

He gave her a picture. She saw herself in her kitchen.

Thinking (hoping?) that maybe she hadn't received the right Divine message, she repeated her question. 'Lord, where can I find you?'

Again, pictures. She saw herself at her kitchen sink, washing her dishes. She saw herself in the rocking chair, soothing her youngest child.

My friend's story gave me shivers, because it's just so beyond wonderful that God truly is incarnational. He really is with us! The Maker of the heavens and the earth is pleased to make His dwelling among us, the least of us.

Her story reminded me of a similar experience I had about a year ago. I was washing my son's hands in the bathroom sink, and suddenly *wham* I was hit with the knowing that when I wash his hands, I am washing the hands of Christ. It sounds almost sacreligious to say it, but, let me tell you, my own flesh did not conjure this one up. This hand-washing epiphany that what I do to the least of these I do unto Christ was particularly piercing because when I helped wash my son's hands, there was often usually an inner rippling of irritation in my heart. Well really, the reason I had to wash his hands was because he'd make another mess, right?

But no.

And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’