TJ Hirst

The Question: Have I Seen the Hand of God Reaching Out To Touch Us Today?

If you’re a regular reader, you’ve probably noticed my writing growing shorter the past few months. As the summer wore me down, I posted more visual aids to tell my story and share my feelings. As a result, I’m a better photographer; yet, I’m a writer for a reason—writing is therapeutic. I need to write.

We labored on Labor Day weekend by washing the 70 windows in our house—as a family. Yes, it is an overwhelming image.

I don’t know what was more laborious, the physical work or the emotional cheerleading. Don’t try to imagine me in a short skirt waving pom poms to enthuse everyone; it wasn’t me who wore that hat. In fact, my emotions weren’t attractive.

Normally, I wash windows in the spring. When our time filled, I planned to do it in the fall.

By the way, I love my windows, and I even love washing them. They are H-windows and pivot on a hinge in the middle of the window. I can stand inside, push the window open, and flip it 180 degrees to turn the outside glass toward the inside. I wash most of the windows, even the two-story ones, this way from the inside without a ladder. The tallest windows in our living room and attic crow’s nest, however, are not operable and must be washed from a ladder.

This year, I asked for help from our capable kids. Capable, yes, but not so willing to work on their last days of freedom. My expectations ruined theirs.

Paul took our teenager to help him with the tall outside windows while I worked with the two younger ones on the inside. I taught my son the whole process: first, take the screen out, vacuum the screen, wipe the screen, then vacuum the windowsill, wipe the windowsill, dip the rag in the cleaning solution while holding the rag over another rag to prevent dripping on the floors, wash the glass, squeegee off the water, wipe the squeegee with a dry rag between each pass, and finish with a dry paper towels on the spots the squeegee missed.

I sent him to wash the windows ahead of me while I retaught the process to our youngest daughter. If this teaching moment lasted I would be reciting, “Train up a child in the way he should go. . .”.

Except, my son had questions about streaking. When I went to answer him, the outside helpers needed something. When I got back to my daughter, she had to redo what she’d done.

I could go on describing how hard it was to manage my emotions. But, unlike a mother who has to go on despite the stresses, when I write, I can end it whenever I want. Let’s just say that all the windows are clean enough for a bird to mistake them for clear sky and our family still loves each other.

Can opposition be a source of illumination? I feel muddied by such negative experiences, and light and understanding seem far away. But if it leads me to admit my errors, especially to my husband and children and seek their forgiveness, then it is a cleansing of a more important kind.

The Question: Have I Seen the Hand of God Reaching Out to Touch Us Today?

I hesitate to add something new to my life. I want to believe in it before I commit to it. So I don’t do a lot.

When I commit, though, I commit my whole heart. I’ve been that way with motherhood, marriage, my faith, my education, my assignments at church and in the community and in all my creative projects.

I do a few simple things well and only add when I can manage and maintain or I drop. I love this about me—now—and for that, I give gratitude.

Some others do not. But their reactions to me do not illuminate, so I won’t share.

This summer I received a new responsibility at church. I threw myself into learning—about teenage girls, about communicating, about planning with a purpose and still making it fun, too. (Yes, I can do FUN, despite what some others think or imply.)

Seven weeks later, another change came. I was asked to teach the early morning New Testament religion class five days a week to the high school students at our church.

So only a week before school starts I am reshuffling our morning routine, rearranging my schedule, refocusing my goals and recommitting my attention to what the Lord would have me do, now.

My heart is willing and able. Studying and teaching the scriptures is a blessing. But can I wholly commit, not sacrifice the level of parenting I want to give, and still develop my creative goals? On a revaluation walk, I learned how I can.

And so I now unload the self-induced pressure of daily posting at tjhirst.com. I am taking Saturday’s off. And maybe some days in between when I become a little sleep deprived, you may see “from the archives.” Thank you for reading. With a little time alone, I can continue to illuminate everyday for myself and be able to share it with you.

The Questions: Have I Seen the Hand of God Reaching Out to Touch Us Today?

For all my grumbling lately about being overwhelmed with busy extras, I have failed to recognize some of the important ways my family works together to make our house a well-ordered home.

This week, in particular, I noticed that help. On Monday night they agreed to forego playing a family game to gather camping gear for this week’s trip. My youngest daughter and son worked with me, and we organized the tents and sleeping bags.

Nh’s scout camp experience reminded me to “be prepared” with essentials like rope and a lantern with fresh batteries. Kh’s attention to detail encouraged me to put together a container of dish-washing essentials like dish soap, paper towels, scrub brush, drying towel and dishcloth in a dish pan with a lid while she made a similar bucket for hand washing.

While we did that, Paul and our oldest daughter worked to fix her broken bicycle. When we camp, we choose a site near one of the many bike trails in Minnesota’s trail system. Eh’s bike gears haven’t worked all summer, and that meant the whole family couldn’t go on a family ride. But in a matter of an hour or two, Paul fixed the gears and her flat tire, saving the time and money of a visit to the bike shop. I know he is pretty handy at the technical stuff, but this was an unexpected bonus blessing.

And now, we’re all happy campers.

The Question: Have I Seen the Hand of God Reaching Out To Touch Us Today?

My new responsibility is to work with the teenage girls in our church. We meet together on Sunday and Wednesday night youth activities, which my husband and my oldest daughter also attend. My two youngest children come to the church with us on activity night, too. Occasionally they have scouts or activities of their own. But mostly they practice the piano, play ball in the gym or read while they wait.

This time, they planned to play in the gym. I encouraged them to bring a book, just in case, but the just-in-case-part went unheeded.

After the activity started, I left the room to make copies and discovered my son and daughter at odds with each other in the hallway. My son sulked about not wanting to play anything. My daughter sulked that NH wouldn’t play with her. “I can’t solve this for you,” I said and went back to the youth activity.

At the end of the night, they both were smiling and I assumed they’d worked it out together. On the way home, though, my daughter began telling me about a walk she had taken.

“Sister S and I walked past the houses by the church,” she babbled from the back seat. “When she was my age it was just a field, and her primary class buried a time capsule by the field. They were supposed to dig it up a year after they graduated, but they never did.”

She continued to talk non-stop about the discoveries they made in the neighborhood around the church. Eventually I pieced together that a college student from our church who we know well was also waiting while the activity took place. She had volunteered to entertain KH with a walk while they waited.

At a time when I couldn’t give to KH, someone else did. Her service meant a lot, and I told her so. “It was no problem. I had so much fun on that walk,” she said. “I got to know her a little better, and I can’t believe how much she can talk.”

Just like the teenage girls who I associate with, my daughter received a fresh companion with a fresh ear to hear her.

The Question: Have I Seen the Hand of God Reaching Out to Touch Us Today?

I plan all that I can. I’ve always been this way. I planned my career in high school including where I wanted to go to graduate school, when I would marry and have my first child and how many children I would have. Silly me, I thought these things were in my control.

When I met my future husband years ahead of my perceived schedule, I ate my humble pie and then tried to see God’s hand in what He might have planned. But learning is a process, and I still approached motherhood with my ideal plan of the perfect spacing and birth order of each sex. Specifically, I didn’t have an older brother and I wanted my daughters to have one.

I had a girl first. I never felt disappointment but adoration for her life. Next, I had a boy. By then I was all mom all the time and cared more about controlling my temper than controlling our family dynamics. I’d long forgotten my desire for my daughters to have an older brother by the birth of my third and last child—a girl.

Fast forward nine years later. I stood in my kitchen last night cleaning up after I’d sent my youngest daughter and my son off to bed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them reappear with each other. I was just about to scold them for not obeying, when I saw two pajamaed children—almost head to head—carrying on about something they wanted to do the next day. The back and forth between them, which I had interpreted as friction, connected them in their own way. I heard the admiration in her words as they figured things out together. In her gestures and her eyes, I saw her love.

God’s plan had unfolded. Without my help and in unplanned and seemingly contentious moments they’d grown together into the ideal I’d imagined. He does plan better than I do, if I’ll let Him.