ordinary

Today, I received one of those treats born on fairy wings.

It happened on my way to yoga--an ordinary day in an ordinary car taking my ordinary route. The classical radio station started playing Lehar's Gold and Silver Waltz. For those unfamiliar with the piece, it's sprightly, delicate, and at times, mischievous. In other words, the perfect soundtrack.

At an ordinary light at an ordinary, albeit busy, intersection, something had gone awry (the work of Puck, perhaps?). The light had stopped working. Cars, most on their way to work, some to drop off kids at school, treated the six-lane intersection like a stop sign.

And that's when I noticed it.

All of these cars, normally infused with Dallas impatience and road rage, waltzed, a sprightly, delicate waltz.

The intersection became the ballroom, and cars lined up and took their turns. One, two, three, one, two, three. Light, on your toes. One, two, three. Not a misstep.

We danced to Lehar's Gold and Silver Waltz.

And then I came to the other side of the intersection, and the moment had ended. For me, at least. The dance continued behind me.

I suppose if it had not been an ordinary day, I wouldn't have noticed the fairies making mischief. 

Kirsten wrote about the beauty of ordinary life. This is something I've been thinking a lot about lately. In any story, the resolve we seek is not the high emotions of the climax. It is the (sometimes assumed) ordinary days. In them lies the happily-ever-after.

In the liturgical calendar, we have two periods of ordinary days. The first follows Epiphany, and the second period occurs after Pentecost. After the high emotions of Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany, after the extreme sorrow and celebration of Lent, Passion Week, Easter, and, finally, Pentecost, we have ordinary days. In these days, we live most of our Christmas life. 

Paul tells us to rejoice in everything and to be content. This joy and contentment occurs in our beautiful ordinary, as Kirsten calls it.

Here's why I've been noodling on this lately: world-wide, nationally, and personally, uncertainties threaten our joy and contentment. My response--escape. I want to sail away (I'll give you a moment to finish the Styx chorus). I want to bury my toes in the sand of a white beach and my thoughts in a book.

But we can't live in the escape. We live in between the anticipation and hope of our Savior's return and the joys of our ordinary lives. To the rhythm of our rosary beads click-clacking between our fingers, we run errands and wash dishes and change sheets. We care for the widow and orphan. We dance to a favorite song. We sip our wine and chew our bread. We work, bringing good to the earth through our businesses. These are the sacraments of our ordinary days, bringing grace and beauty in ordinary elements.

The cleaning fairy missed my house.
I thought I had scheduled her for after our New Year's shindig. It's the busy season for them, so you have to call in advance. And being the considerate person I am, I even put away the leftover food before going to bed after the party.
But two days later, and no fairy.
Coffee cups and punch glasses and wine goblets and plates and trays litter my kitchen counters and my table.
Where have all the fairies gone?

Matthew 11 has always been a difficult passage for me. John the Baptist, a faithful preacher for the Lord, is in jail for his work for Christ. In his cell, he begins to wonder, perhaps even have a shade of doubt. He sends his disciples to ask Jesus, "You are Christ, right? I mean, this isn't for nothing?"

Stop. This isn't the difficult part. In fact, this part comforts me. Even John the Baptist had his doubts. Maybe we should call them semi-doubts. He's not renouncing Christ. He's not taking back his message. But he needs some reassurance.

Has the potter no right to make from the same lump of clay one vessel for special use and another for ordinary use? (Romans 9:21)

What if I'm Pharaoh? Or Esau? Okay, so I know that those examples are bad because I know that I'm a child of God. But what if I'm ordinary?
What if I'm not Esther or Ruth or even Rahab? What if my "for such a time as this" comes down to doing the laundry on a regular basis (and believe me, this is not such a time for that).