It started with a burrito.
Which feels about right for our house.
Not a deep family meeting.
Not a quiet devotional moment.
Not a peaceful morning where everyone listened, ate breakfast, and transitioned beautifully into the day.
A burrito.
Little brother got up from the table with part of his breakfast still sitting on his plate.
Big brother, who happens to have Down syndrome and a very strong sense of order, decided this needed to be addressed immediately.
“You need to finish your food.”
Little brother answered with the classic younger-sibling response:
“You’re not the boss of me.”
And just like that, the morning took a hard left turn.
Frustration rose.
Voices shifted.
Big feelings entered the chat.
And a brand-new plate was lifted over someone’s head.
Yes.
That plate.
The one I had just gotten.
An adult sibling stepped in before the plate met its tragic end. The moment was stopped. The plate was saved.
Crisis averted.
Sort of.
Because in a family like ours, stopping the action is not always the same thing as understanding what happened.
Dad walked in and saw one small piece of the moment.
One child looked like he was being pushed too far. Another looked like he was causing trouble. The adult sibling looked like crisis management before breakfast was even over.
But no one had the whole story.
And honestly, that happens all the time.
In families.
In parenting.
In marriage.
In caregiving.
In homes where autism, Down syndrome, trauma, attachment struggles, Alzheimer’s, strong opinions, limited communication, tired brains, and big feelings all live under one roof.
Someone walks in during ten seconds of a situation and tries to understand the whole story from that one small piece.
But what happened is not always the whole story.
What each person thought happened matters too.
What they felt matters.
What they assumed matters.
What they could not explain matters.
What they needed but did not know how to say matters.
There were things to correct that morning.
Plates cannot be lifted over heads.
Younger siblings cannot lean into disrespect.
Older siblings do not get to appoint themselves as the breakfast police.
Adult siblings should not have to become crisis management before the school day even begins.
But if I only corrected the behavior, I would have missed the hearts.
And the hearts mattered.
The child with the strong sense of justice needed to understand that helping is not the same as controlling.
The child with the unfinished burrito needed to understand that pushback can pour fuel on a fire.
The adult child who stepped in needed to be seen for preventing something from getting worse.
My husband needed help processing what he saw through the lens of what was actually true.
And I needed Jesus before the coffee had even done its job.
Later that morning, something happened I did not expect.
My husband and my son hugged.
Both of them said they had missed that closeness.
That part still gets me.
Because earlier, it looked like chaos.
It looked like a morning gone wrong.
It looked like too many needs colliding at once.
It looked like a brand-new plate almost lost to the cause.
But God was doing more than I could see.
He was working in the correction.
He was working in the pause.
He was working in the listening.
He was working in the repair.
He was working in the hug.
Sometimes I think I limit where I expect God to work.
I know He can work in worship services.
I know He can work through Scripture.
I know He can work in quiet mornings and answered prayers.
But do I remember that He can work at the breakfast table?
Do I remember that He can work through an unexpected burrito conflict?
Do I believe He can bring healing through a moment that began with frustration, misunderstanding, and a brand-new plate almost meeting its end?
I want to.
Because God is not waiting for perfect moments.
He is already moving in the messy ones.
At the table.
In the misunderstanding.
In the correction.
In the repair.
In every heart involved.
It started with a burrito.
But God was already working in every heart at the table.
And that gives me hope for the next messy moment too.
Discussion question:
Where have you seen God do something good in a moment that first looked like nothing but chaos?
Responses