As I sat in the shower this morning, I was hoping for a normal day. Inside the draping cavern of my white shower curtain lived an octopus, a spider man book, and a lego truck.
For just a brief second, I thought how it would be nice to get my shower back from the nomadic village of toys that has taken up residence for the last 10 years. I was wanting a normal adult shower. This week has brought spilled neon paint, broken coffee tables, no electricity, bath water that smells like burnt chicken stomach, a broken washing machine and 5 kids asking me "What do we do now?" I asked myself why I coveted 'normal' and if I really knew what 'normal' meant for me.
Apparently, for me and my family, normal means things breaking weekly. It means that we will consistently be thrown into situations that we have to use a second language to try and solve and sometimes that will mean that we will be seen on a bus holding a toilet seat we just purchased at a nearby market. This is normal.
As I smiled at my octopus friend staring at me from behind my shampoo, I found myself being grateful for our normal. Our normal includes chaotic laughter and desperate searching for the Lord's presence, because without that, we are just loud and lost. And one day, those toys will be gone and I'll have to redefine normal again. But for now, I'm grateful for their presence.
