One Thing Well: Learning to Value the Process

His voice wafted up the stairs with a familiar ring “Mooooooooom!”  It’s grating sometimes, all the “mooooooooom”s.  Unsettling like a baby’s cry, it rattles me.

My own mother told me once that she believes God gave each mom a unique connection to her baby’s cry.  It’s unsettling to a mom because it needs to be.  Her helpless baby needs her.

These calls for mom feel a bit the same.  Except these kids of mine aren’t quite so helpless anymore.  Yet, their pleas for help feel just as constant and continual some days, which probably has a direct correlation to my own “Lord, help me!” pleas.

Mothering is not for wimps.

 

This particular plea came from the piano bench, from the child who is just not loving it, lately.  The entire basement could barely contain his frustration as we tried to sort out notes together.  His fingers were heavy on the keys and he was internalizing the defeat of every wrong note.

We suffered through the song together.  It wasn’t pretty.  I tried to remain unaffected by his groaning and gnashing of teeth.  And we made it through the dreaded song.

But before we got up from the piano bench I asked him a simple question.

“Have you ever seen your little brother try to zip a zipper?” 

“What?“

His tone was still a bit exasperated and in his mind I think he only wanted to be released from the prison of that piano bench.  Unfortunately, he has one of these moms who cares more about life lessons than piano lessons, so I ignored his pleading eyes and hoped I can get him to follow me here.

“A zipper.  Have you ever watched Bo (the resident 4 year old in our home) try to zip his pants or a coat or anything?  He squeezes that zipper pull tight in his chubby fingers.  He yanks from an angle trying to will that thing into submission.  He gets aggravated and tries to force it.  And the more he fights it, the harder it becomes because there is so much tugging and yanking.  More often than not he ends up in a pile of tears on the floor.  But if he would have just slowed down, calmed down and eased into it, that zipper would have glided up quite nicely.“

My plaintive piano player smiled, just a little, recalling a sight he has seen play out so many times before, as the oldest of our brood.  Having been successful enough in these tepid waters, I threw out my bigger question.

What if God doesn’t care about how well you play the piano?

The boy paused before offering his best answer; a question of his own. “I thought God cared about everything?”

“True, He does.  But what if He is not all that concerned about how good of a piano player you become?  See, we sit here trying to learn some stuff – trying to take our brains and fingers and make them work in sync to produce rhythms and melodies, trying to learn how all of that comes together to make beautiful music.  But what if God cares less about how good of a piano player you become and more about your heart, your attitude while you’re doing the hard work of learning? 

 

His knowing smile trumped a lengthy response and with a simple,  “okay, mom”, he put his books away and bounded the stairs, two at time.

But I sat on that piano bench a little longer with the weight of my own words.  Words that preach to me as much as they do him.  Do you notice how often parenting works that way?

I like end results as much as he likes well-played songs.  I’m trying to raise stellar adults.  I want an election that provides an excellent president.  I want a home that is tidy.  I want to do work that is good, to be a leader that is worthy.

And it all feels so hard and messy and complicated at times.

None of those goals are bad, in and of themselves.  But far too often I’m solely focused on the product, the end result, and I fight the process.   All the daily work, the failed attempts, the messy middle leaves me exasperated at times.

What if I’m looking for a product while God is truly more interested in the process?

I want to be brave, but I sometimes fight the process of becoming brave.  I want to be in good shape, but I fight the process it takes to get there.  I want to know God, but I resist the work it takes to read His word, the pause it takes to hear His voice and I become frustrated with all the times I mess it up.

I’m like a four year old yanking on a zipper, friends.  I’m an 11 year old fighting the piano.

And so today I’ll rest in this.  Less yanking.  Less fighting.  More abiding. 

Let’s focus less on the project and more on the process.  The vantage point from where we are today.  Let’s do this one thing, right in front of us, well.