The Hard Lessons of Rainy Days

Yesterday’s historic flooding in Houston showed a lot about our city—that we have too much concrete and not enough ditches, that Houstonians are the most fantastic helpers, and that weather can still paralyze our beehive highway system.

For our family, the day off revealed something about us. It took until the afternoon, but we finally realized that we can live without the dopamine dings we rely on from the outside world.

This is a lesson we desperately needed. Our family has become addicted to external satisfaction. I’m worried that we’re teaching our kids to live for the next excitement. They’ll grow up to need faster cars, better boyfriends, bigger houses.

And I know the truth. I know that they already have everything they need to be content. I know that God’s given it to all of us—and no big camp or soccer trophy will change that.

And even though I know this, I’m not teaching it to my kids. I feel like Pavlov, training a herd of dogs with reward after reward:

“Get excited! Next week’s camp is going to be water-slides-and-bounce-house awesome!”

“Finish your worksheets and we’ll go to Target!”

“Get ready for the swim meet/big game/awesome family trip!”

I’m very afraid of not being busy. If we’re not busy, what will happen to us? Will we ever leave the house? Bathe? Put on real clothes that don’t double as pjs?

Will unstructured days turn my kids into adults who smell like hamster cages, research Internet conspiracies, and write the mean comments at the bottom?

I will take overextended, stressed-out kids who live in credit card debt and looking for the next buzz over that, right?

These have been the two conflicting images pinging around in my mind as I planned our summer. Could we really have a July that is just blank page? Would we become inventors of fun—or inventors of sloth?

Then thunder and lightening woke me up yesterday morning. Right after that came the news that school was cancelled. Here you go, God said. Here is a day of pajamas and your own creativity.

Can you model contentment?

Even as I was telling the kids they didn’t have school—and even as they were screaming and high fiving—we were all asking each other the same question…but what will we do all day? Research Internet conspiracies? Fight?

Somehow, the day worked. We baked, made up plays, watched movies, caught homeless crawfish that had washed out of the bayou, explored our soppy neighborhood, and finished the mountain of laundry.

Yes, the kids did report boredom. They were bored until they learned the new, slower rhythm.

But inn the end, the unstructured day inspired us.

Then, this morning, we woke up to the news that school is cancelled for the second day. And to be honest, I’m scared again. If there was a rainy day camp for kids I would be so tempted to drop them off.

But we’re going to try another day of letting our own creativity carry us.

And we’re going to try to learn to be content with that