Loaves and fish

You're picking up toys on the living room floor

For the 15th time today

Matching up socks, sweeping up lost

Cheerios that got away...

While I may not know you, I bet I know you

Wonder sometimes, does it matter at all?    -Steven Curtis Chapman, Do Everything

Caleb reading Busy, Busy Town to the girls.  He points out every single "vroom."
And yes, that is a red felt scarf tying the handles of the toy cabinet together--because we had to use the yardstick to hold the kitchen cabinets closed.  My house is nothing if not glamorous.

Matching up socks is technically Jed's job around here.  We feel doing laundry teaches Jed responsibility, giving back, diligence, and a life skill.


Actually folding the matched socks together is a detail he's a bit.... relaxed about.


Yesterday I pulled out seven white socks from my drawer, one at a time--and none of them matched.  It took eight to finally get a matching pair.


(Yes, I could've worn almost-identical white socks around my own house.  Only I would've known that the writing on the soles were in different colors.  Look, I may be on Zoloft, but I'm still me.)

Does it matter at all?  Did this song ever catch my attention when I first heard it.


Having (several) children and choosing to stay home and choosing to breastfeed for a long time and choosing to homeschool all comes with certain limitations.


As in, I can't leave my nursling for a day (or more than a few hours, until recently).


As in, mobilizing to go to the grocery store for a gallon of milk is like planning for D-Day, but with more thought to potty stops.


As in, I can't play with my friends whenever I want to, because I'm schooling all morning and have nappers in the afternoon.  And after that I have to make dinner.


Et cetera.

In theory, I believe what I'm doing is valuable.  In raising our family intentionally, we are a building block in a society that needs intact homes.


I want to do what I do.  But it's hard.  And it's much harder when I can't stop thinking, does it matter at all?


For one thing, will these little beloveds ever stop acting like barbarians raised by wolves?


Will they grow up to love Jesus?


Will they know how to fold socks?


And for the love of all that's good and holy, will they ever stop pooping in their pants?

He fell sound asleep while I was making our lunch.  Emptying the dishwasher and running the microwave right in front of him didn't wake him up.

Neither did informing him that it was time to eat.

Aside from the inability to do whatever I want whenever I want to, I have certain more significant limitations.


Such as, feeding orphans in Myanmar isn't very feasible for me.  Or soothing the rages of war across Africa.  Or reaching the Middle East for Christ.


No, because I'm matching white socks and mopping up pee puddles and fixing lunch.


Does it matter at all?


How can *I* make a discernible difference in this world?  Does bringing some children into the world and (best case scenario) teaching them to love Jesus really contribute to the Kingdom of God?


Because that's all I seem to be working on.


But there are zillions of people and problems and painful things out there!  What a discouraging few days I've had thinking about it.

He woke up extremely resentfully.

And then--


God directed me to the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand*.  You know, zillions of hungry people in the wilderness with Jesus, and He starts asking the disciples how they are going to meet their need.  Andrew says,


"There is a lad here who has five barley loaves and two fish, but what are these for so many people?"


What are these for so many people?


Is this not the very question that's been burdening my mind?


Jesus, I have four little people who are learning to know You, but what are these for so many people in the world?


Jesus, I have a biblical worldview and a few short years here, but what are these for so many people?


Jesus, I have faith like a mustard seed and a flickering love, but what are these for so many people?


"Jesus then took the loaves," and fed the people to satiety---gathering up twelve baskets of overabundance.


And the feeding belonged to Jesus--not the boy with the offered food.



Lord, take my wavering faith and my unsteady efforts to love my family, teach my children, and keep my home.  Take my concern for my neighbor and my God-ordained limitations and work, that the world may see You glorified in my weakness.


*John 6