I want to tell you the story of the watermelon & the cookie cutters. 

Today, a beautiful sunny day in the woods of Wisconsin {stick with me here.  it gets worse; I promise.}, my 8-year-old came into the kitchen where I was preparing lunch.  He had seen the watermelon on the countertop, awaiting the knife.  & he had an idea.

“Where are the cookie cutters?” he asked me. 

“Cookie cutters?” I thought.  Well, okay.  That could be fun.  Sure.  We are educational here.

So I dug them out.  He & baby sister proceeded to cut thin watermelon slices into candy cane shapes & stars.  They ate most of them before heading back out into the sunshine.  They created zero mess.

The End.

*gag*

Let’s try again, for real this time.

I hate lunch.  Actually.  Because I generally eat breakfast late, so about the time I’m finishing, my kids are asking about lunch.  This makes me crazy.  Also, I can think breakfast thoughts & dinner thoughts, but somehow there is a hole in he middle of my brain where lunch thoughts should live.  I have no reason for this.

Today was extra special.  Mari needed her hair combed 3 days ago, & since she knows I will let her play on my phone while I turn bird’s nest into braids, she brought me the brush & leave-in conditioner.
Around lunchtime.

Four minutes into that project & she was crying because I was solid on Game, yes; Cartoon, no.  So I was mad, Leif was arguing, & before I imploded, I sent them outside.  I couldn’t even be nice about it. 

Very shortly after they got outside, Mari said she was hungry.  Of course she is.  So I start pulling  random bits out of the fridge, hoping to conjure some semblance of lunch.  Remember how much I love this.

Both kids came in, then.  Leif saw the watermelon, asked for cookie cutters of all things.  Um, what?

“Well,” I thought.  “That would maybe clear the air a little after I bit their baby heads off for basically nothing.”

So, 2 kids, a watermelon, & a handful of cookie cutters later, everyone ate something, my mama guilt had tamped down a notch, & at least no one was crying anymore.

The End. 

We don’t need a whole lot from each other, I don’t think, but we do need to be honest.  Painting ourselves pretty only divides us, props us up, separates us from each other.  But the Truth?  Well.  Holding our actual human selves out to each other is an invitation:  “Hey, yah.  Same here.  I see you.  We are 100% in this together.”

& that does an actual wonder for how people see Jesus inside us. 

{ps ~ don’t ever feel the need to use the word “awaiting” in a sentence.  just saying.}