It had been a long day.

A previous night doing a few breastfeeding sessions with our teething 11-month-old.

A day of making meals, sweeping crumbs, completing (well, mostly completely) homeschool lessons with my older kids.

Answering endless questions from different kiddos, in no certain order.

Changing diapers, and giving countless redirectives to manage sibling arguments.

While my husband completed bedtime routines upstairs, I snuck downstairs to the kitchen to prep for the next day.

My feet throbbed, reminding this pregnant mama to wind it down sooner rather than later.

But I had one last task on hand to complete: prepping my sourdough to make sandwich loaves in the morning.

I Facetimed my sister to distract me from my own exhaustion, and then I heated the tea kettle to prepare some warm water to pour over my fed starter.

My sis and I kept each other company on the phone with little conversation and 30 minutes later, plastic wrap in hand, I wrapped up my bowl to allow my dough to rise overnight.

By mid-morning the next day, my dough had doubled in size. I wiped down our counters and became excited at the thought of kneading my fermented dough.

Because most of my days were filled with such unpredictability (i.e. meltdowns, spills, accidents, sickness), I found solace when baking bread.

After a few months of baking, I felt a level of control. I discovered that I could get the results that I intended, for the most part. And oh how I loved the results!

I loved the smells that filled our home. I loved hearing my son say on cue, “Mama, this is the best bread ever.” I loved watching my daughter chew and ask for more. It brought a sense of joy that felt… predictable.

I pulled out my two glass containers to set my dough in for its final rise before baking. But first, I needed to knead the dough.

I scraped some dough onto my counter and saw my precious 2-year-old daughter peer over the counter’s ledge to get a better peek. She then used a chair to climb onto the counter to sit in full view of what I was doing. Her eyes danced with innocent curiosity while her body fidgeted from side to side, excited to see what I would do next.

It was true. I was actively living out a scene from a daydream that I probably had as a little girl: being married, having children, and witnessing them stoop themselves up on a kitchen counter to watch their mama knead bread.

I smiled.

But as I kneaded my dough, I noticed something.

A small yellow stream began trickling its way across our countertop and inching closer to the very dough I was kneading.

For one millisecond, I paused….confused.

And then it clicked.

I had previously taken off my 2 year old’s diaper and forgot to put another one on her underneath her pants.

That stream.

That yellow stream.

Dare I say it?

It was….urine.

Nah, let me just say it. PEE!

I screamed in shock.

My daughter looked up in surprise and playfulness. She grinned, happy to see her mama scream like a little girl… like she did so often.

I grabbed her off the counter and placed her feet on the floor.

“Oh baby, we gotta go put your diaper on you first,” I said gently… surprising myself with my own level of calm.

She kept laughing at my previous shriek in the kitchen. She found it so funny.

When I returned to our kitchen counter, that yellow stream had already made its way to the dough.

My dough.

My dough that had taken over 24 hours of prep work. You know that dough that was supposed to now have filled my home with sweet aromas. The dough that would’ve given me the validation that I had done at least one thing right all day amid chaos. Yeah, that dough.

I scooped up the dough, placed it back into the glass bowl, and then did what any rational level-headed mother would do.

I sent a SOS text to my sisters and mama, inviting them to cry with me. They sent back laughing emojis, but that’s beside the point. I called my husband who reasonably assured me that there was no possibility of reviving dough with pee in it.

The day went on and the dough continued to sit on the counter in its glass container. For whatever reason, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out. Every time I tried, I couldn’t do it.

Why? Was it because the preparation process involved such hard work and sacrifice on my behalf? No. I knew there was something deeper at play.

I couldn’t throw it out, because…well, I looked forward to seeing, feeling, tasting, and basking in my ONE “supposedly” predictable plan coming to fruition. The one thing I thought I could control. The one thing I could tangibly point to and glorify in.

The bread continued to sit on the counter.

By nightfall, I reluctantly tossed the dough into the trash in one quick succession—a moment I had dreaded all day. It became a physical symbol of what my actions often felt like daily...taking one step forward and three steps back (seemingly).

I headed to my room and laid across my bed, thinking about many of the day’s events. I couldn’t shake why throwing my dough out was so hard. Why I wanted to cry (outside of the normal pregnancy hormones.)

And then I felt the Holy Spirit comforting me in the stillness.

He showed me how He received glory that day.

It didn’t come by way of me being able to bake a perfect loaf of bread. It didn’t come by way of me filling my home with a sweet aroma. It didn’t come by way of me seeing the intended fruit of my hands.

The Lord was glorified by the way I gently treated my daughter when that pee touched my dough. By the way I laughed with her when I saw her laughing at me. By the way I continued to welcome her presence in the kitchen even though I felt my entire work was destroyed.

I thought the highlight of my day was going to be baking two perfect loaves of bread and feeling proud.

I never thought that the Lord’s highlight reel would include the way I treated my daughter when my plans were altered.

Why do I share this?

God may be receiving the utmost glory within your life in the midst of you feeling like you’re failing at everything.

The angels may be rejoicing, when you can’t grasp any of your intended accomplishments.

Maybe the goal isn’t physical results, but a Galatians 5 Holy Spirit-bred fruit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

Maybe stop judging your success by the measure of your own standards of success. And stop and assess what God deems to be successful.

Are you bearing eternal fruit that will last through the fire on the Final day? Do you see the fruits of the Spirit being bred in your life?

I know. Maybe your marriage doesn’t look great. Maybe y’all still aren’t in alignment in certain areas of your life…and it’s been years.

But in the midst of what you deem a lack of accomplishment, do you find yourself being more patient with your spouse? Do you find yourself not using those usual demeaning words you’d normally use in an argument? Do you find yourself walking away a little bit more quickly before an argument blows up?

Maybe your child is still acting rebellious. But do you find yourself praying more? Seeking God’s wisdom more diligently? Laying your child before the Lord a little more night after night?

Maybe you still haven’t received a bump in pay at your job yet. But do you find yourself embracing more of a James 1 disposition? Find yourself stewarding the resources the Lord has given you with more wisdom? Find yourself making a business plan that could only be birthed out of current personal frustration?

Maybe you are seeing how generational sins have wrecked your family line, and thereby family members. But are you learning more about how to break generational curses? Are you learning more about your own authority in Christ? Do you find yourself seeking to live a more consecrated life due to seeing the consequences of sin in the lives of those around you?

Let me say it again.

God may be receiving the utmost glory in the midst of you feeling like your life is crumbling or when you feel like you’re failing at everything. The angels may be rejoicing, when you can’t grasp any of your intended accomplishments. Maybe the goal isn’t physical results, but a Galatians 5 Holy Spirit-bred fruit.

Can I be honest with you?

Weeks after that night, I kept going back to the Lord in conversation with questions. I began randomly thinking about ways I thought God would work things out in me and my husband’s life to receive glory. Ways I reasoned God would move so that others would see and throw their hands up and say, “Only God can do something like that!!” I’d daydream of the miracles the Lord could perform in my husband’s and I’s life to make His Name great. In the midst of me thinking, daydreaming, wondering, asking '“why many of my daydreams have not been my lived reality”…the Lord reminded me of many testimonies from the Bible.

Perhaps, I’m in good company.

I imagine Abraham thought similarly.

TO make a great nation through Abraham’s seed, I imagine Abraham reasoned that the Lord would surely bless Abraham with multiple children immediately. Instead, the Lord chose to make a great nation from only one child birthed by Abraham’s wife, Sarah, in Abraham’s old old age.

To show neighboring nations that Israel was mighty and strong, I imagine Gideon probably thought that surely the Lord would raise up mighty men in great number to fight off the 132,000 Midianite men gathered to defeat Israel under Gideon’s leadership. Instead, the Lord told Gideon to only gather 300 men.

The Lord didn’t plan on receiving glory through Israel’s superb fighting skills. He didn’t plan to receive glory through Gideon thinking of a stellar battle plan. Gideon was a farmer, y’all. Instead, the Lord planned to receive glory by His own divine methods: utterly confusing the Midianites and having them defeat themselves.

I imagine Jacob had other plans when He wrestled with the angel of the Lord until the Lord blessed him. The Lord blessed Him all right. And Jacob walked with a limp for the rest of his life: a physical representation of the Lord’s desire for Jacob to live a life of complete dependence on Him.

I could go on.

But I’ll skip to the ultimate example.

We all would’ve thought that the King of all Kings would appear in the flesh, riding on a white horse, prepared for battle, with all His riches in full display for all to see.

Instead, God the Father received glory by sending His Son to be born in a stable with animals, in a town in which many would say “no good can come from,” in a form by which “he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. (Isaiah 53: 2-3)” Not only that, but He died a lowly death—on a cross.

Who would’ve thought? Who would’ve thought…this would be the means to glory?

God did.

As a follower of Christ, why make your life the exception?

Don’t manufacture glory in your life. Let the Lord receive it all…however He so desires.

I’m not quite certain how pee touching my sourdough led to these thoughts…but they did.

No matter how my day goes or doesn’t go, may the Lord receive glory from it—is what I’m learning.

So beloved, stop trying to manufacture glory through a certain result. Be the salt and the light of the world and thereby glorify your Father in heaven (Matthew 5:16) through eternal fruit (Galatain 5:22-23 ). Let the results work out for themselves.