What it all boils down to.

The simple gift of amazing grace.

I have written, re-written, and scrapped three drafts of this essay. And that’s not including the ones I have written in my head.

I think I finally have an idea that will work for this blog hop topic—titled, “simple”—but I am interrupted by my 4-year-old daughter with a demand for a Band-Aid for a healed-but-faintly-there boo-boo, more Goldfish, and a question as to when she can eat lunch.

{Pause writing to let her choose between four Disney Princess Band-Aids, “because I’m four”, she emphatically tells me; refill the Goldfish snack cup, but only a little, because lunch will be in about an hour.}

I review my previous draft, to see if any sentences are salvageable.

I had started writing about how a recent invasion of norovirus taught me to appreciate the simple, unexpected blessings in life. Like a friend dropping Pedialyte and applesauce and two bouquets of flowers—for you and your daughter—at your doorstep. It was a small act of simple kindness that brought tears to my eyes after a night empty of sleep but full of vomit.

I wrote about the simple but incredible blessing of having a village spread across the country, so that when you called your pediatric-ER-PA-best-friend at 4am your time, it’s really 6am her time and she’s already getting ready for work, you’re able to ask if the length and quantity of vomit warrants a visit to the ER right now or if you can wait a little longer to see if anything will stay in your daughter’s stomach.

Without the struggle of norovirus, would I have been able to see the simple gift of deep friendship that was on full display?

{Pause writing because the baby has woken from his nap. Acknowledge the adorable Finding Nemo pajamas you bought because you had to throw out the beloved snowman ones from said norovirus incident.}

I review my second draft, to see if there are any salvageable sentences.

I had written about how everywhere I look, I see a mountain before me. A difficulty, a challenge, an uphill battle I don’t want to fight. I talked about how I overcomplicate what’s before me—don’t we all?—and instead, I need to keep my focus simple. I need to simply focus on what matters. I tied in one of my favorites verses from Psalms 121.

I look up to the mountains—does my help come from there? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth! Psalms 121:1-2 NLT

If we keep our focus on the One who made heaven and earth, it will be easier to live on earth while we wait for heaven. To lift our eyes from our circumstances on earth to focus on what eternally matters is a simple perspective shift, but it changes everything.

I dug deep into Psalms 121, referencing an article that I recently read about the historical context of Psalms 121. I couldn’t figure out how to gather my thoughts and tie it all in a simple bow, so the essay sits unfinished.

Although the essay remains a draft, the simple reminder to keep my eyes above the towering mountains of my current circumstances was what my heart needed.

{Pause writing to make lunch. The overwhelm starts to settle in; how will I get all that I need to get done, from writing this essay before it’s due, put the dishes away, fold the laundry, care for the kids, get groceries, make meals for a few families, answer all the texts and emails, prep for Bible study, on top of all the normal demands, while I solo parent? I turn on some worship music to let the Light in, as a way to combat the dark.}

I sit down to write the essay that is supposed to be the one that you’re reading—the one I thought I was finally going to write before I was initially interrupted for Princess Band-Aids—but instead, I open up a new document and write what you have read so far. I write until my four-year-old begins to tug on my leg, asking me to dance to the music.

At first I see it as an interruption, but then I see it as an invitation—a simple invitation to spend time with my daughter while worshipping the Father.

I let my mind swirl as I twirl my daughter around the room.

Nothing in my life seems simple right now. It feels heavy and busy; even writing an essay about simplicity feels hard. But in the heavy and busy and hard, I can still find His amazingly simple gift of grace.

I just need to keep lifting my eyes above the mountains, and keep them on the One who made them.

It doesn’t get any more simple than that.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Simple."