A Glimpse of Heaven
By Courtney Elmer
Ever wonder what Heaven and dirty diapers have to do with each Other? Me neither … until now.
“Imagine someone looking at your family and seeing a glimpse of heaven.” When I heard this in the priest’s homily on Sunday, I didn’t know whether I should laugh, cry or roll my eyes. That’s because the ONLY things you’d see if you walked into my house and glanced at my family would be the tsunami of toys left in the wake of a very busy little boy, and that pile of laundry that’s (thankfully) clean but sitting in a heaping pile on the couch. That’s, of course, if you didn’t notice the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. Or the funny smell coming from the trash can that I’m unsuccessfully trying to hide with peppermint oil blowing full blast in my diffuser (because technically the trash needed to emptied yesterday … but let’s keep that between us, ok?) Surely heaven wouldn’t reek of poopy diapers and stale puff snacks with an occasional whiff of Tide or peppermint, would it?
I don’t know about you, but this description doesn’t exactly scream “heavenly” to me. Or does it?
Because if you took a closer look, there’d be a few things that didn’t first catch your eye – like the fluffy blanket on the floor that A.J. and I made a tent with that morning, playing peek-a-boo. Or the mis-matched pile of books in our favorite chair, where I read him a naptime story before rocking him to sleep. Or the planner opened on my desk blocked out in color-coded time-chunks, noting “work-during-naptime” and “play-during-awake-time” – all of it sitting next to a too-large, already-cold cup of coffee.
Yes, that’s right – what you might not notice, at first glance, are the reasons the laundry didn’t get folded or the dishwasher didn’t get loaded.
Reasons like choosing to be present, choosing not to sweat the small stuff and choosing to be the mother that A.J. needs me to be. (All in the midst of running the business of my dreams from my laptop and making an effort to win wife-of-the-year, too, I might add.)
Hearing his giggle after the thirtieth round of peek-a-boo or telling him for the twelfth time, “Let’s READ the book A.J., not EAT the book,” is why I don my “Supermom” cape every day, tie my hair up in a classic mom-bun and get to work.
Because, according to what the priest said in his homily, I’m raising a little member of the kingdom and fostering a family full of faith.
And, if giggles, wonder, a spirit of curiosity and sweet, precious memories are all a part of that, then I don’t want to miss any of it. Because that IS heavenly, to me.