Tuesdays are probably my favorite day of the week. I think Tuesdays are yellow. Even though sometimes they can feel grey, or blue, or purple. But Tuesdays I like to think look like hope, and opportunity.Though they can feel like routine too. They are not the most special day of the week. Most people have strong feelings towards Mondays…even Wednesdays, or Fridays. But not on Tuesdays. Tuesdays are not usually spectacular. They’re like the “middle child” of the week. But life happens on Tuesdays. We get up and go to class or to work, and we eat lunch, and we may do laundry, or take a nap because we are still tired from the weekend. We might need to catch up on homework or chores. Tuesdays are usually uneventful. They can have a grey shade to them.
But I think that is life. I was talking to my best friend Amber yesterday. I think we both can agree that this season feels like a Tuesday.
This season of life for me has been confusing, and on the verge of “freak out moments” constantly, I have moments when I feel messy, and empty. And life feels routinely, and unexciting, and busy, and sometimes lonely, and I forget who I am, and I feel like I have nothing to offer, and I stay up too late, and I don’t read the Word as much as I need, and I am less of the friend I would like to be, and I stress, and I cry over little things, and this season can sometimes not look yellow at all.
Amber told me last night, “There is life after.”
And yes, yes, yes. There is life after every season. There is life after brokenness. There is life after graduation and after sickness, and after depression, and heart ache, there is life after exciting moments like a baby being born, and a wedding, and an engagement, and after a good meal, and after a good night sleep, and after a birthday.
I am a true believer that some of the most precious moments in life can pass by unperceived because they are tucked in, woven within the uneventful, the Tuesdays, the routine, the normal.
If there is someone in my life who has taught me about the sweetness in the simple is my dad. Since I was little, we would do the simplest of things together and they always felt like the most special thing in the world. When it rains, my dad and I go up to the roof and look at the rain, we sit there quietly and breathe in the smell. Sometimes when I have a bad day, my dad and I go lay on the trampoline and we look up to the sky and look at the clouds. When I was little we used to go on Rally’s dates. We both got $99 cent fish sandwiches with their seasoned fries and ate them in the car. He also taught me to love KFC’s spicy wings, with their mashed potatoes and we could finish a whole box just the two of us. We still go on walks in the summer and we talk about anything. And we take breather breaks, and sometimes we get popsicles afterwards. Some nights, my family stays up talking after dinner, he tells stories we’ve heard a handful of times and he still laughs like the first time he told it. When I was like 10, my dad would sometimes take me to work with him, he taught me to love fruits, so we would stop at this little fruit shop and grab all kinds of fruits, and we’d eat them in the car, even without washing them. On Sundays my dad and I would go to a flea market, we had matching snapbacks, and I’d wear mom shorts (the kids version) and we would get horchata waters and eat peanuts and walk around looking for things neither of us really needed for which we’d get in trouble with my mom.
I think we need the routinely tasks. And the seasons that are confusing and uneventful, and feel messy, and very human, and like we have nothing to offer. Because I think we can find that our sweet Jesus is tucked in, woven, tangibly present in these moments and seasons. There are stories within these stories. There are moments worth living during these seasons. There is sweetness in the bitter.
Back in January, I was talking to Amber when she came over on a weekend. We were talking about marriage, and how we are a little concerned, I can say for myself afraid that marriage could be not as exciting as I would hope it is.
And I think it could very much be. Mundane, and simple, and uneventful, and not very exciting.
But bare with me here for a second.
Let us consider toast.
I love bread and I love toast. But can we be honest and say that sometimes good old buttered toast can be a bit boring. Sometimes toast doesn’t look very exciting or amazing.
But toast can be pretty sweet. Have you ever had avocado toast with a fried egg on top?
It is a flavor explosion in your mouth.
Have you ever had peanut butter, honey, banana toast? …It is the sweetest thing
Or how about goat cheese toast, with honey, and lavender?
Or french toast? Oozing with buttery and syrupy flavors.
And I think that marriage or even life can be like butter toast, but gosh, I also believe that it can be like a pretty dang sweet toast. Exciting and exploding with flavors. It can be a party.
And I think Jesus is in the explosion of hidden flavors woven within those moments. I think Jesus knew about simple. He was a carpenter for most of His life. He had a family, with whom I’m sure he ate dinner with, and did chores with, and did life with. He studied and read, and he got his hands dirty. I think he experienced the mundane, and the very normal, and the every day life. Jesus knew about Tuesdays.
But I think Jesus knew mirth.
I think Jesus appreciated the small, and the sweet, in people, in friendship, in family, I bet He also appreciated food, and creation, and laughter. I cannot imagine a God who was fully man and fully God who didn’t laugh. I think God delights in laughter. I think Jesus knew of the extraordinary in the simple. The goodness in the everyday. Even the sweetness in the hard seasons, and the messy seasons.
My prayer this season is that I am someone who takes in every day, and has eyes to see the goodness in the simple. May I look at Tuesdays with glad eyes, hopeful in that God is good, and He is kind. May I remember that there is life after every seasons.
But most important may I remember that Jesus is in it.
God remains good, and constant and He remains longing and wanting you and I, He remains God, and He is good at being God every season.