During the two-day lapse into Spring weather we had here in Greenville, the boys and I took full advantage of being outside for as many hours as possible (even if that meant mud-tracked kitchen floors and paths to the potty and permanent red clown cheeks on my boys for a few days). I forget how cooped up I feel inside during the winter and how good the sun is for my soul and my psyche (I hope the same is true for the boys, but a happy momma is a happy family, so outside we were). The majority of this outside time was spent making mudpies. A typical mudpie-making session would go like this: Ty and Eli fight over “the good sha-ble” (shovel) until I make peace and we draw out the distinctive blessings and uniqueness of each shovel. Then the boys make me sit on the front stoop while they run and dig and work merrily to make me many different “soups” from Moe’s where they are both the official “cook-ers.” I just sit there smiling, enjoying my coffee, while they run to me with each delectable creation (all of which look nearly if not exactly the same). I really wish I were my friend Frances (who has an incredible gift of photography. She really captures personality, moments, etc..), because if I were, I would have snapped some awesome pictures of Ty and Eli’s little faces when they presented me with my meals. They were so proud, so overjoyed, so excited to be bringing me something they made. They really wanted me to notice, recognize, enjoy each different container (and there were approximately 25). And I just sat there loving them being so proud and excited. It was clearly not that I needed, nor wanted any part of their meals, I just loved watching them present them to me so proudly (Tyus would say, “um, excoose me, ma’am here is your food;” Eli just grinned his big cheeky grin and did his coy look).
Making mudpies with the boys really changed my perspective on my attempts at serving the Lord. I really do feel like the boys, wanting so desperately to give my Father something He would love, something He would need, something unique that only I could make and present. And, on the occasions that I come and present whatever that might be before Him, I come so excitedly, so proudly, so hoping He will love it. I also realized that the Lord is not a food critic waiting to point out all the obvious flaws in my completely inedible and unattractive meal; He is a perfect Father (I only enjoyed this game for like an hour, He enjoys it eternally and completely) who sits very near, very happily enjoying my bustling attempts at presenting Him with something. “The God who made the Heavens and the Earth is not served by human hands as though He needed anything; for He gives to men life and breath and all things,” (Acts 17) and yet He sits patiently in my presence ready to graciously welcome my mudpies.