it makes no sense

So, friends, every day do something that won’t compute. Ask the questions that have no answers. Put your faith in two inches of humus that will build under the trees every thousand years. Laugh. Be joyful though you have considered all the facts. Practice resurrection. —Wendell Berry

I had plans to pack as many chores and errands into a late Sunday afternoon as I possibly could. Clean laundry was wrinkling in baskets. Staples needed to be purchased for school lunches. Dinner should soon be started. The workweek was fast approaching.

But Liam had his own plans.

I attempted to hustle the boys into the car to run to the grocery store. But they wanted none of it. The two were in the backyard surveying a trench Liam had dug. And now Liam was instructing his young apprentice to go and collect some “poison” berries for the potion he was concocting to pour into the dirt crevice, which would apparently protect us against house brownies, gremlins and other mischievous fairy types.

It was a perfect late summer afternoon and I was now the ultimate gremlin come to break up their fun. As I closed my eyes to the warm sun, I considered my options. I could demand that they get into the car. I am the mother, after all. I could give up on getting to the store and go back inside to fold laundry and get a jump on dinner. Or, I could scrap all my plans for a productive afternoon and observe the nonsense going on in the yard.

Although it went against my plans entirely, I chose the last option. Liam lit up and, as he now considered me a co-conspirator, broke out his secret weapon should the salt-and-berry barrier fail.

So, that’s where the forks disappear.

Whether it's making secret potions and pitchforks to keep the bad fairies from entering the house or running gleefully for the park—the unproductive activity we did next—nothing my boys choose to occupy their time computes in a useful sense. Their joys are, in fact, completely useless. And for a productive, results-oriented mother, joining in and attempting to experience their abandon takes more effort than I care to admit.

To add to the nonsense, we have brought a dog into our family. Nothing could compute less. Another mouth to feed. More vacuuming to do. Earlier mornings to wake up and step outside—as winter approaches no less!

Yet already, the joy has increased ten-fold. Just the presence of a being so completely unproductive, so useless (in the traditional sense) has resurrected a purposefulness that cannot be found in baskets of laundry or trips to the grocery store. There is no making sense of love. And when we open our hearts to the clever nonsense of a boy who makes his own pitchfork, a useless trip to the park when there's loads of work to be done or a freeloading dog who makes the whole house happier, we get a glimpse of Wendell Berry's truth. 

What's the point of spending your whole life being productive and useful? Results are just results. The stuff that makes no sense... that's where we find the magic.

Welcome, Bella!