I have an amazing family. A big, comfortable, fun, crazy family.
I ought to know. I spent the last two weeks crammed in a four-bedroom, two-bathroom house with them.
There are 22 of us. I finally got the number straight. It’s due to change in another month here, and again at the end of July. But right now, the number is 22. Twelve adults, ten kids, six of whom are under the age of two. For seven days, all 22 of us were together under the same roof.
It was chaotic. It was loud. Most of the time, it smelled like dirty diapers. We were stealing each others’ chairs, tripping over each others’ shoes, spilling each others’ drinks, and spending too much time in the shower when four more people were waiting in line. It was obnoxious. It was stressful.
It was beautiful.
We didn’t kill each other. We didn’t even fight. We’re still looking forward to our next family get-together. The kids didn’t have to sit in time-out all day, and our indoor dogs managed not to bite off any fingers (not even when the babies were pulling their eyelashes).
People look at my family, and they’re amazed. Open-mouthed. Blinking. Wondering how we manage to be so big and insane and ridiculously unplanned, and still like each other. They’re impressed. I don’t blame them. I am too.
Not that I really have much to do with it.
I’ve said it’s because we have a Grandma who prays for each one of us every day. I’ve said it’s because my mom stayed at home when we were kids, and my dad taught us to love the Bible. I have a blessed, blessed heritage.
But the bare truth is simpler than that. Because, at the end of the day, we each make our own individual choices. And we’ve chosen. We’ve chosen to love each other. We’ve chosen not to be selfish. We’ve chosen to enjoy the packed house, the loud dinners, the screaming children. We’ve chosen to follow Jesus.
He came from a big family too, you know. Four brothers that we know of, and at least two sisters. I bet His family meals involved crying babies and flying peas. I bet His parents’ house sometimes smelled like dirty diapers.
I think God loves big families. I think He loves the loudness, the togetherness, the chaos. I think He likes all the little, daily chances to watch us give up ourselves and die. I think He wants us to go and invite more people in. I think He wants our houses to be fuller.
I thank God for the full house I was a part of this Christmas. It was a gorgeous, unorganized, deafening thing. I really enjoyed it. It was a little taste of Heaven.
I ought to know. I spent the last two weeks crammed in a four-bedroom, two-bathroom house with them.
There are 22 of us. I finally got the number straight. It’s due to change in another month here, and again at the end of July. But right now, the number is 22. Twelve adults, ten kids, six of whom are under the age of two. For seven days, all 22 of us were together under the same roof.
It was chaotic. It was loud. Most of the time, it smelled like dirty diapers. We were stealing each others’ chairs, tripping over each others’ shoes, spilling each others’ drinks, and spending too much time in the shower when four more people were waiting in line. It was obnoxious. It was stressful.
It was beautiful.
We didn’t kill each other. We didn’t even fight. We’re still looking forward to our next family get-together. The kids didn’t have to sit in time-out all day, and our indoor dogs managed not to bite off any fingers (not even when the babies were pulling their eyelashes).
People look at my family, and they’re amazed. Open-mouthed. Blinking. Wondering how we manage to be so big and insane and ridiculously unplanned, and still like each other. They’re impressed. I don’t blame them. I am too.
Not that I really have much to do with it.
I’ve said it’s because we have a Grandma who prays for each one of us every day. I’ve said it’s because my mom stayed at home when we were kids, and my dad taught us to love the Bible. I have a blessed, blessed heritage.
But the bare truth is simpler than that. Because, at the end of the day, we each make our own individual choices. And we’ve chosen. We’ve chosen to love each other. We’ve chosen not to be selfish. We’ve chosen to enjoy the packed house, the loud dinners, the screaming children. We’ve chosen to follow Jesus.
He came from a big family too, you know. Four brothers that we know of, and at least two sisters. I bet His family meals involved crying babies and flying peas. I bet His parents’ house sometimes smelled like dirty diapers.
I think God loves big families. I think He loves the loudness, the togetherness, the chaos. I think He likes all the little, daily chances to watch us give up ourselves and die. I think He wants us to go and invite more people in. I think He wants our houses to be fuller.
I thank God for the full house I was a part of this Christmas. It was a gorgeous, unorganized, deafening thing. I really enjoyed it. It was a little taste of Heaven.
(Enjoying the chaos in lovely weather - thank You, God! - outside.)
