The Power of Rest

Birds In the Storm

My favorite book growing up was The Big Tidy Up, about a little girl named Jennifer (just like me––such a plot twist). In the story, Jennifer cleans her perennially messy room, then keeps it as neat as a pin forevermore.  Presumably, that Jennifer grows up, lives in an impeccably clean house with her flawless family and lives happily ever after (probably at her goal weight, too).  The end.

Needless to say, my life hasn’t followed such an orderly path, and no-one in their right mind would describe my house as tidy – messy, chaotic and “full of life” perhaps (AKA dirty) – but never tidy. No matter how many organizing systems, spring cleanings and toy purges I’ve attempted, my house always reverts to the same state of middling chaos.

One winter morning, the disorderly state of my house weighed quite heavily on my heart. I felt like the ancient Sisyphus of Greek mythology, eternally condemned to roll an immense boulder up a mountain, only to have it slip and roll away as he neared the finish line.  Like Sisyphus,  I felt as if my days were consumed by pushing piles of dirty laundry, dishes and displaced toys up a mountainside until they lurched down to bury me, day after live long day.

That particular winter morning found me feeling especially sorry for myself. My daughter was late to school (for the third day in a row) because I couldn’t find her a clean shirt, and we’d argued the entire drive to school over her refusal, of all things, to blow her nose; my five year old went to kindergarten without his homework, breakfast or brushing his teeth; and my thirteen year old son trudged off to school (in the middle of Winter) in a pair of Crocs with unmatched socks.

When I got home, I sat down to do something utterly unproductive: have a pity party. I pronounced myself an epic failure as a mother and human being. Other families have no problem keeping their homes neat and clean, I chided myself. Clearly, they are Zen masters of housekeeping, while I ought to be locked away for my domestic crimes. Had I possessed a parenting license, I would have handed it over voluntarily.

While I was busy feeling sorry for myself, three startling things happened simultaneously which brought my pity party to an abrupt halt. Firstly, my son’s rocket ship alarm clock went off for no apparent reason. Secondly, I looked out the window and saw that the blue sky had given way to a blinding snow storm. And lastly, most startling of all, a sudden loud and exuberant cacophony of birdsong broke out – so emphatic and joyous it simply could not be ignored.

Jolted from my revelry of self-loathing by the three strange events, it dawned on me that I hadn’t taken leave of my senses.  Instead, Mother Nature had somehow cued the birds into song with a fierce snow storm.  Stupid birds!, I said to myself. It’s not spring, you know. There’s a blizzard going on. And by the way, my house is a mess and life sucks.

But the birds and their raucous singing got me off the couch. I gazed out my window, past my self-recrimination and considered the whirling snow. My grumblings about laundry, dishes and deadlines were suspended as I peered outside myself and my home and wondered at the birds and their song. If, even in the depths of winter, their song remained so beautiful, what words were they singing that I had forgotten?

The great Victor Hugo once observed, “winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.” I believe what he was saying relates to the singing winter birds. It’s not strange for them to sing when it’s snowing.  They also sing when it’s raining, sunny or after a hurricane.  Birds sing all the time, simply because they are alive. Mother Nature set their clocks to sing an eternal song of spring, whether Winter sits squarely upon them or not. Their song is our blessed reminder when we forget that spring is always around the corner. 

After hearing the birds sing in the storm, I realized that my home, littered with signs of a busy life and a happy family, has never been a symptom of failure.  With this new found wisdom, I cancelled all future pity parties and put away my warring winter heart. Like Mother Nature and her birds, I vowed to set my internal clock to spring. No matter the state of my house or the foul weather that may lurk on the horizon, just like the birds in the winter storm, I will hold a song of spring in my heart.