it all matters...

"In the thirty-first chapter of the rule, St. Benedict states something so remarkable that I keep coming back to it each night as I stack bowls and dry plates. He says, “All the utensils of the monastery and in fact everyting that belongs to the monastery should be cared for as though they were the sacred vessels of the altar.”

All the utensils.

I take the spnge and rinse the silver sink. Nothing in this skinny kitchen is all that special. And I’ve been living as if my task as a mom, those daily, mundane tasks- the brushing of my son’s teeth, the wiping of his bottom, the dressing of his body, the kissing of the scraped knees, the soothing of his wild terros—as if they were nothing significant, as if they were simply normal, what every mother does.

I’m mesmerized by St. Benedict’s words, that the monks should care for every toodl in the monastery, from garden hoe to the kitchen cleaver, as if they were the very chalice of the Eucharist, the tool that brings the blood of Christ to the lips of believers. 

I am undone.

I’m not sure why I’ve been waitin for this. I’m not sure why I needed someone to say it to me this way. But with Benedict’s words, I feel my world has been reborn holy. Suddenly my life, all these small daily instruments I am packing in my home, and the very sippy cup I fill with milk and raise to my boy’s lips, is an instrument of worship.

How did I miss it before? How was I so sure that God did not value my umimpressinve daily life?

I see my refelction in the dark night window. My short hair is bobby-pinned out of my face. My red sweatshirt hangs loose from my chest. And in the refelction of the glass pane, I see it.

I am a priest. I am a priest of the gospel, holding the chalice to the lips of my son. Carrying the plate of bread to the hungry. My life has value because God has touched every mundane moment with the glow of holiness. It matters. It all matters." 

–     ­Micha Boyett Found

As you all go about your day in your apartment today, as you plan for the wedding, as you organize medications and schedules, as you continue to heal... remember that it all matters... All that is before you can be instruments of worship.