Tip of My Iceberg

Celebrating men looks a lot different than celebrating women.

Women get excited about flowers, fancy decorations and chocolate.

Men are easy. Bacon. It makes everything better. And anything fried. That’s the manly way to eat.

For Father’s Day, we had the privilege of having most our kids with us, except our son and his family. We had quite a few dads to honor, men who’ve encouraged and built into the important people in my life. Men I respect, not because they were able to biologically reproduce, but because they care deeply for others. They act from hearts of integrity and compassion.

They’re just fun to be around.

The girls decided to make a massive Father’s Day brunch. Homemade waffles, fried chicken, bacon and fruit. (For the health conscious.)  It was a team effort. One complicated by a very small kitchen and a whole lot of cooks.

We spread all over the limited counter space and spilled over to the dining room table. We dredged chicken pieces, mixed waffle batter, cooked bacon, chopped fruit. All the while talking, laughing and listening to the guys watch a soccer game in the other room. We spilled flour, sprayed oil, learned how to chop mangoes a new way and made a mess of our tiny space.

Everyone had flour sprinkled over them like pixie dust. But we accomplished what we set out to do. We made a killer brunch–one that probably was killing arteries across the board. Everyone loved it.

We could have done the Father’s Day thing and gone out to brunch. Here in Ft. Collins, that would have required hours of waiting and not being able to sit together. It would have caused small ones to become impatient and whiney and older ones to become impatient and complaining. By the time we’d have sat down to our meal, everyone would have been less than thrilled with whatever we ordered and would be counting the minutes till we could leave.

We had freedom to make a mess and live in it. The kids wandered in and out, nibbled here and there and weren’t forced to wait in a confined space. Pleasant.

Life is messy and out of control. My best plans can fall apart and reveal better plans–if I let them. Giving space to have others contribute makes my life easier. And yes, messier. I don’t have to be the one in control. I grow as I learn from others.

The challenge is admitting I can learn from others.

It’s living in community. What God created us for. The best way for us to live.

As we made breakfast, we all added our parts to make a great meal. None of us could have done it alone–it would have taken all day to just cut things up. The kitchen looked like a war zone of edibles, but kitchens can be cleaned.

Mess happens. Always. God’s with us in our mess. Not bothered by it. Helping us see the beauty of what working together can be.

What we accomplished together was better than any of us could have done alone.

And I’m not just talking fried chicken.