Done With Finishing

“I didn’t get anything done.” The words hang around me constantly. Nagging “guilt flies” that swarm about my face in irritating flashes of my cluttered scenery.

The dryer door open, clothes half unloaded.

The living room half dusted, fluff and yellow handled duster still lying on the credenza.

The dish drainer half full, soapy water, now cold, and the pots left soaking in it.

Worse than that are the projects. The little porcelain coasters I wanted to hang on the wall and only realized in the midst of the process that I was shy a few hangers. The stack of papers I intended to sort through and halfway in, found the clock had outpaced me again. Back into the box, back into the corner, out of sight to everyone but me.

All the unfinished leaves me undone, and I pitifully swat at the urges to finish as I run out the door for another trip to school, another run at errands and another dutiful appointment.

Then this morning came, and the sweetness of a five year old voice called out for precious time. I could find so many ways to say no, I could plant him in the way of television nourishment, I could do more without his hands in mine, but what would I be getting done?

I asked God this morning, “Show me what I’m getting done here,” and I put the squirmy boy in my lap, under a blanket, books about us.

There is so little gratification for a mom whose mind is checking off lists of things while she goes through the motion of loving.

His growth, his learning, health, character and spiritual development are not measured in inches and there are no boxes to check or displays to show him off. He is never done. There is no end to this mother list. Yet, in this part of the day he is my most urgent task.

I know the answer to my question won’t be answered in a day.

It won’t be answered in a week.

In truth, his character, the dirty floor and the laundry won’t be done until there is nothing left to grow, scrub or wash, and I stand beside myself and let the flies land for a moment and take it all in.

Being done is no prize, being done is nothing to aim for…being done is in fact, aiming for nothing.

What am I getting done? It’s another question looking for an answer in my own works. I remember now who the Author and the Finisher is. The great I AM. The One who begins good work and sees it to completion. My job is not to get things done then. My job is to worship the Finisher, ever present both in His creating and in His finishing. My job is to work while it is still called today, ever in the motion and the acknowledgement of loving.

I am done with finishing.

I am done wishing away my toil.

I am beginning to see the grit of service on my hands and can smell it’s richness. The fertile soil of occupation is beginning to seem less like muck that holds me down and more like rocks that hold me up.

I can enjoy the doing because I am not consumed with the the idea of being done.

I can enjoy the process because I am not overpowered by the pressure.

A clear table and counters, a spotless floor, clothes neatly stacked in their drawers, these are not signs of a list finished, they are only part of the endless process, clearing the way for more process and more doing.

Gifts they are, simple rewards for the continuous doing. There is no end to this mother list, but there is joy in what it symbolizes.

A life full is not finished, a life full is an ever present unfinished.

Enjoy the list.