Several weeks ago, Ann V. wrote a post on love that stuck in my heart, her thoughts on patience in particular:

There are few emergencies.

My sister tells me often. So then why that pitch to the parenting voice? Emergencies are wildfires, screeching sirens, and gaping wounds. In everyday life, we rarely experience emergencies. Then why do we need to holler, fly, rush off? As Simone Weil writes, “Waiting patiently…is the foundation of the spiritual life.”

Really, what catastrophe will befall if we slip into church 5 minutes late or dinner is on the table 15 minutes after six? Sure, it’s time to be in the car and junior can’t find his other shoe. Or the soup needs seasoning and toddler wraps like vine up a parental leg. Take a deep breath. This really isn’t an emergency. We can go slow.

Now is good.
Now is not an emergency to rip through, but a moment to embrace with gratitude.

[read the whole post]

How many times has that thought whispered in my ear, calming my frenzied heart, stopping a flow of frustrated speech: There are few emergencies.

Is this an emergency?

Baby cries, high-pitched, hysterical. Two year old is pulling toys out, right and left. Oven’s timer is beeping, and casserole is now beginning to overcook. Shards of broken glass demand my immediate attention. Clean laundry is spilling over the dining room table’s edge. Dust bunnies are everywhere I look. And I’m so tired.

I’m about to snap.

And then those words.

I realize no, there is no emergency. No, no need for anger, frustration, any of the above.

This is a real-life moment, the kind my life is made of.

The kind my children’s lives are made of. Do I want to shape it, define it, with my lack of patience?

This is not an emergency.

Quietly shush the babe. Wrap him tighter, whisper love.

Turn a blind eye, for now, to the “one toy at a time” rule. Pick up can come later.

Dinner may not be fit for the King of England, but the king of this house will appreciate it and be blessed, no matter the extra time in the oven.

And the rest, well, it’s never ending. How could that possibly constitute an emergency?

And then, a miracle:

That moment is transformed. A small victory, a small miracle. But to me, right then, grace I can almost feel.

My awesome and supportive friend, who has no children, sent me a link to an entertaining article.

Now I’m sending it your way. (Read it; the rest of my post won’t make sense until you do. It’s short!)

‘kay. Done?

That article was just what I needed. You know why? Because sometimes I’m the one asking the questions that, ahem, “friend” asked. Why don’t I have 5 minutes for an email? Why do working women work and keep up with the same chores I struggle to maintain? How is it that, at the end of so many days, I look around and realize I’m exhausted from working all day and yet, somehow, nothing got done? What’s wrong with me???…

Thank you, Carolyn Hax, for telling that woman what’s up. And thank you for reminding me of what I do all day.

That it’s not nothing.

That I am the center of the world to two little boys.

That the only reason they’re dressed, fed, bathed, hugged, rested, and read to is because I’m here. Doing all of those things. In between my to-dos. (And sometimes instead of my to-dos.)

I didn’t get nothing done. At the end of the day, I linger at the bedside of toddler, adoring his sweet face, wondering what he dreams of. A surge of love fills my heart when I slip into bed beside a little infant, his fingers curled around the edge of the blanket, his cheeks flushed with sleep.

And I remember: I loved today. What a privilege.