When Doing the Next Thing is the Way Forward

My niece and nephew, who are 8 and 11, are spending the night at my house. They arrive bag and baggage {from down the street} and I envision a night full of popcorn, games and laughs.

But that grand plan goes awry quickly when I barely manage to keep the toilet from overflowing, start the laundry from the near-disaster in the bathroom, hand out snacks {no one wants popcorn}, and settle two disputes. 

And with that, their bedtime arrives. 

I head back upstairs to find my niece laying on the floor with a blanket over her head and my nephew sitting on the side of her bed, serenely clipping his toenails.

“I can’t sleep in that bed now that his toenails are in it,” she informs me from the floor. 

I roll my eyes {but really, I can’t blame her} and tell her I’ll get the vacuum. Arguments ensue on who is sleeping where.

As I try to maneuver the vacuum around her on the floor {since she doesn’t budge}, I accidentally hit the end table where the vintage medicine cabinet sits and it topples over and sends everything flying across the room with a crash.

They both stare at me. A glass rolls under the bed. Finally, it’s quiet. 

I realize what I’ve long suspected to be true. 

Chaos doesn’t necessarily obliterate the way forward. What I should do seems pretty obvious. Not a lot of decisions or questions here.

Fix what’s broken. Moderate the quarrels. Clean up the mess. 

Could it be that simple for the bigger things we wrestle with in our lives? 

Maybe all the hand-wringing about what to do and sweating it out and worrying isn't all that necessary. 

Maybe it’s not really that much of a mystery. 

I get attached to the mindset that joy waits for me just over the next horizon. I am sure that divine happiness would be mine if I’d only just get there. 

{Although I’m not so sure where there might be.} 

I know I would be content if only I could billow that banner over my life that says I’ve arrived. 

{You know the banner — yours may be different from mine, but it might say: marriage, motherhood, accomplished career, grandchildren, retirement.}

I imagine the view just over the next hilltop will be everything I'm looking for so I can relax and enjoy the ride.

Maybe my never-ending quest to know what I should do makes God raise his eyebrows. 

When he’s already given me so much, maybe it’s a little ungrateful to keep asking, what’s next for me? 

What if this — all I have now in my life —  is right where I should be? This is the plan.

The view I have when I look up from the climb of my ordinary days looks quite pretty. It's filled with all the things I love and cherish, if I just lift up my head, open my eyes, and see what's in front of me.

As I stood at the stove flipping chocolate chip pancakes the next morning, Devon protested that her brother was sitting in her chair at the breakfast counter. Another sibling spat broke out. 

When I promised the compromiser the first pancake, they both said they didn’t care. Finally with tears {Devon’s} and pleading {mine}, Nate finally gave in and moved. 

The overflowing toilet, tabletops crashing, fighting before pancakes — they’re all part of the plan for making memories. For them and for me.

After they went home, I sat down at my desk and saw this note stuck on top of my computer from Devon. 



Hi! I love you. Have a nice time blogging! 

I think I’ll just do the next thing. 

Open my laptop and write this week’s blog post.

I'm linking up with my friends at Holley Gerth's place at Coffee for your Heart. If you click the image, there are more posts to read from my blogging friends!