EMBRACING ABSURDITY

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 169

When you commit to writing down something you're thankful for every single day, you eventually realize that inspiration isn't always going to strike like a lightning bolt. Sometimes, the universe decides to test your grip strength and your patience simultaneously, and you just have to hang on for the ride. Today was undeniably one of those days.

It started with the weather. It’s been one of those damp, gray Minnesota Mondays—the kind that can’t even commit to a proper thunderstorm. It just hovered, casting a lingering "blah" over everything that seemed to seep right into the bones. And apparently, that grayness short-circuited the connection between my brain and my hands.

Today, my hands went on strike. I became a walking, talking butterfinger.

It began at lunchtime. Half a perfectly good pizza, destined for greatness, made a rapid, tragic descent to the kitchen floor. Danielle and I had to tag-team the cleanup, mostly to run interference because Gus Gus and Arlo were convinced the heavens had finally opened to answer their deepest, most carnivorous prayers. They definitely managed to sneak in a bunch of tactical licks before we could declare the drop-zone secure.

But the true masterpiece of clumsiness, the absolute pièce de résistance of my Monday, came much later in the day. Ironically, it happened in almost the exact same spot in the kitchen.

Like a responsible adult, I got out the vacuum to deal with the accumulated messes of the day. I finished the job, feeling a brief, fleeting sense of productivity. And then, as I went to empty it, I completely yeeted the full canister right out of my hand.

I watched in slow-motion horror as it hit the floor and shattered into its component parts. A magnificent, terrifying cloud of dust, dander, and a staggering amount of Boxer hair exploded over the very floor space we had fought the dogs for hours earlier.

I spent the rest of the afternoon half-expecting to drop my own shadow.

It is incredibly easy to be grateful when the brisket turns out perfectly, or when the sky is clear enough to see the stars. But when you are staring at a freshly made pile of floor-sweepings you just cleaned up? The pastoral heart tends to take a back seat to the flesh, which mostly just wants to string together a few choice words that definitely aren't in the hymnal. Finding gratitude in that moment feels like a pop quiz you didn't study for.

But here is the absurdity of grace: sometimes, gratitude is just the sheer, stubborn fact that you didn't lose your mind. I didn't pack a bag and walk off into the damp gray yonder. I just sighed while kicking my proverbial backside. I had to surrender to the absurdity of fighting gravity and losing so spectacularly.

There’s a reason we aren't promised days free of dropped pizzas or exploded vacuum canisters. We live in a messy, clumsy world. But we are promised something infinitely better to help us cope with it. Lamentations 3:22-23 reminds us:

"The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."

New every morning. What a profound, relieving truth on a day like today.

Midnight brings a hard reset. Tomorrow is a completely clean slate. The law of averages strongly suggests my hands will remember how to be hands again tomorrow. The sun might even finally peek through the gray. But for tonight, I am deeply thankful for the humor to survive a comedy of errors, the grace that meets us in our most frustrated moments, and the beautiful promise of tomorrow's fresh start.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go keep a very tight, two-handed grip on my new MacBook Air. That is something I definitely don't want to yeet out of my hand—though, considering how today has gone, I am profoundly grateful I sprang for the AppleCare just in case.