Treadmills and Roger Murtaugh

Life's been crazy as of late. My sister had a baby. My parents were in town. Sloan took a couple of days off. Father's Day. Henry has swim lessons this week (why did I sign up for these?). We're neck deep in adoption papers. And the bugger of all buggers, last night was the kick-off for my church's VBS and I'm the MC. Yes, I'm one of the few people who isn't afraid to talk in front of large groups of people and am pretty comfortable with a microphone in my hand, but geesh, I think it has been since Henry was a newborn that I've been this tired. And now Sloan is back on the road so I have to juggle swim lessons at lunch time and early naps to make it to the church on time for evening VBS all by myself.

I feel like I'm running on a treadmill, two steps away from flinging myself off and getting stuck so that the track just rips the skin off my knees and nose. Just chasing a stupid carrot that were I to finally catch, would leave me completely unsatisfied. In the midst of this hullabaloo, I've noticed two things (three if you count me noticing we have no milk, eggs, or butter in the fridge). First, like Ted on How I Met Your Mother, I need to compile a Murtaugh List. You know, a list of things that cause me to say, "I'm getting too old for this ship." (And yes, I know he doesn't say ship.) And second, I'm chasing all the wrong things. It is making me too tired to chase the right things.

Some running on the treadmill is just the everyday business of life. And that's okay. The adoption agency needs to know about our income and life insurance, so I've got to just buckle down and find out about all that stuff and get Sloan to call all the appropriate HR people at his job. There's nothing wrong with the swim class. Henry is the oldest kid in the class and so for once (because most of his friends are a good 6-8 months older than him), he gets to show everyone how it is done. Even one of his nurses from the NICU is in the class with her 13 month old. It's just that with VBS this week, it is cranking up the incline on my treadmill.

And even though I moan and groan about VBS, I love it. I love working with the teenagers in my skit group--bonus that I don't have to actually interact with the 10 and unders unless I want to. I like hanging out with the teens, talking about Facebook and Deadliest Catch. But, I may be getting too old for this ship. The other day I was faced with the following ethical dilemma--do I just stand here and nod, acting like I know who they are talking about, keeping intact the facade that I'm young, cool, and hip, or, do I fess up that I have absolutely no idea who Soldier Boy is. And who was that chick, other than someone inappropriately dressed, that sang last week on So You Think You Can Dance?

Moreover, these teenagers are making me see my 14 and 16 yr old nephews in a new light. When did Anderson and Caleb become people I actually enjoy hanging out with? When did it stop being disrespectful and become okay for them to jokingly make fun of me? And hold the phone, when did they get girlfriends who are models and look 24? Why am I sucking in around their girlfriends? I'm definitely too old for that ship.

I keep coming back to the ice cream truck. It came the other day during nap time so we missed it. But I still find myself listening for it, putting my change in the jar, and I am convicted by how much time and energy I put into prepping for the ice cream truck and how little time I put into waiting and listening out for the Lord. I'm just too busy navel-gazing and running on the treadmill to be aware of what He's doing. And most of this running I'm supposedly doing for him. The truth is He is at work--in my family, my heart, my little corner of the world. But I'm too busy running and saying, "Whoa is me, I've got too much on my plate and I'd really like a nap and maybe an hour to just sit down and finish my book" to see Him. I'm too busy chasing after all this other junk. (Seriously, how demented is it that I asked my husband if I was as pretty as my 14 year old nephew's model girlfriend? Literally, she is a model. I'm not just saying this because she is leggy and blond. Sloan's response, "What is wrong with you?") I am too old for this ship, and yet, here I am, dancing to the music, while all the other women and children are getting into the lifeboats.

The lesson of the the ice cream truck is that the truck comes to you with the ice cream. That you don't have to chase after it. That because of the Cross, Jesus says to us (over the whir and thump thump of the treadmill), "Hey, that thing you are running after, I'll give it to you. It's right here. Just get off that treadmill and come sit with me."

And yet.

Whir whir, thump thump.