Post Category → motherhood
get me to the church on time
Yesterday morning, by the time my alarm went off, I was already trying to justify calling a sick day and skipping church. William hadn’t slept well, due to a bit of stuffiness, and I was exhausted.
BUT.
But roll out of bed, I did, and I got to work preparing myself and the boys for church. This all takes a bit longer, as we’re still very, very far from settled into a working organizational system. Actually, that makes it sound much better than it really is: barely contained chaos. In fact, I look around and am amazed that I’m not totally freaking out. I’m thinking maybe that has to do with this meditation. (When I wrote that, I wasn’t thinking that this season of craziness would extend into April and include sheetrock dust and paint fumes, but God knew!)
The big goal is to be at church at 10:00, so we can enjoy a bit of visiting before the service begins at 10:30. At 9:55, Ryan is looking for something and can’t seem to find it. Five minutes later, he really can’t find it. Okay, strap the kids into the car so we can check my parents’ house.
It’s 10:15 as we leave our driveway.
And no luck at my parents’.
Back to our house.
Give up, and Ryan decides to just drop me off with the kids, and he’ll resume his search.
10:27, we’re heading to church (which is, fortunately, a mile down the road.)
Did I mention that I hate being late? Than I wake up very early on Sunday mornings, just to avoid being late? That I had put in four hours of work, and was still going to get to church late?
I said as much to Ryan in a wry voice, and he laughed a bit, too.
“Good thing ‘being a Christian is about more than just Sunday morning church’,” I said, still a bit sarcastic.
But the Holy Spirit jumped on that thought. “It sure is, isn’t it?,” He whispered, and suddenly, suddenly I knew that my four hours of ironing and bathing and looking and finding and bed-making and cereal-pouring and tidying was not in vain, and that getting to church at 10 was so far down the priority list, really. The [somewhat miraculous] fact that I’d done all of that with a smile and joy and servant’s heart — well, that counts as important. I mean, really: does church count as a powerful Jesus encounter for my family if it’s preceded by four hours of Mean Mom? And is Jesus any less present in my conversations about how important the Lord is to me as I put on socks, buckle sandals, then He is in the 20 minutes of congregational worship?
Isn’t it great that being a Christian is so much more than getting to church spit-shined and on time?
I think so.
(Of course, we’re aiming at 10:00 next week. Wish me luck! Ha!)
my boys
I’ve been missing Ryan. The longer we’re married, the less I like to be apart. By the time I’m 50, we’ll be inseparable, I suppose. (I’m suddenly thinking of Up and trying not to get emotional.)
But no Ryan means a special chance to be all Mama and soak up all the little boy lovin’ I can. Jameson holds my hand lots, and William (who has a little fever and an upset tummy — sad!) wants me to hold and snuggle him lots. My very favorite, though, is bedtime, when we all three fall asleep into bed together, nestled close against each other — and then wake up and snuggle even closer for just a minute before Jameson hears his Uncle Merrick and runs away to play.
That’s all, really. I just wanted to write and remember this special week, with my two boys, sharing pillows and dreams.
I love them!
fruits
Sometimes I am so struck by the wonderfulness of this walk with Christ. Like, wow, what a great plan!
This past Monday, we got a whole van-load of boxes, and, knowing that was the day’s plans, I mentally rolled up my sleeves and prepared for this task of packing. I reviewed my strategy, but I also gave myself a little pep talk. The house will seem like a disaster, said I to myself. The kids will get cranky at all the wrong moments. They will unpack boxes you just filled, and will rip tape off the boxes you thought were so well sealed. Those amazing little houdinis. Tempers will probably flare, and tensions will run high, and you’ll have to remember that it’s just a season, and soon it will be over. And you’ll have to work hard at kindness and patience — more so than usual.
And that’s when I was struck.
I saw, in vivid color, as though for the first time, that kindness and patience are a fruit of the Spirit — and the Spirit will still be active and moving in our lives, even during this topsy-turvy month!
I literally teared up, and my heart just burst with happiness and relief. I can have love and joy all the time.
Love, joy, peace — they are not fruits of routine, order, and a good night’s sleep.
Against such there is no law — not even the laws of chaos, exhaustion, teething babes, and tight budgets can keep the fruits of the Spirit from growing in a willing life.
Suddenly I’ve found myself murmuring to myself —
— when it’s only 9am, and two kids are crying and whining and I’m just so tired: Joy is not the fruit of rest; it’s a fruit of the Spirit.
— when I trip over the crying baby who’s trying to climb up my [moving] legs: Kindness is not the fruit of tranquility; it’s a fruit of the Spirit.
— when little hands are reaching for me, a boy is getting into trouble, a dear husband calls his need for something, and I can’t do it all at once: Peace and love are not the fruits of manageable moments; they are fruits of the Spirit.
And if that’s true, then there’s nothing about right now that makes those fruits an impossibility. In the middle of these boxes, in the midst of any tears, above and through and in all the pressures and demands, we can experience:
love. joy. peace. patience. kindness. goodness. faithfulness. gentleness. self-control.
See what I mean about the wonderfulness of it all?
my morning
:: 6:45, my not-morning-person husband wakes me with a tap and an excited whisper: a house will be ours, really ours, soon. (More on that later.)
:: I crawl out of bed, excited about the prospect of a few minutes without kiddos for the first morning in a long time. Call my mom. Be excited about seeing her soon.
:: Coffee into the maker. Granola and yogurt into the bowl. Button’s pushed, now wait.
:: It’s still dark. I light the candle on the kitchen table, check my email on my phone. Coffee’s ready.
:: The first sip warms my chilly insides. Winter mornings are winter mornings, whether you live in upstate NY or Northern California.
:: I sit at the table with breakfast, laptop, and ESV. Sip, skim blogs, baby cries.
:: William is happy to nurse, snooze, and cuddle while I enjoy my granola and Exodus. I’m working my way through the Bible, again. This time, I’m not promising it’ll be in a year. I’m hoping this open-ended plan will be less discouraging.
:: Flip to Galatians 5. Be glad I live by the Spirit.
:: Welcome another little buddy to the table. Time to turn on a light and start the morning, for real. Naturally, that will include the newest tunes from my favorite superstar.
things i want to remember
:: the patient determination shown by Jameson as he tries to do his own buttons.
:: how William, rather than crying when he stirs at night, has started simply calling for me (in an adorable, somewhat-panicked baby voice), “ma-MA?”
:: Jameson’s pronunciation of pj’s: ja-pe’s, which must mean something in French. And for that matter, the way he says “weet”, “wit”, and “tare-fuw” instead of feet, fit, and careful.
:: William’s jubilation at being able to stand on his own. He isn’t content to just stand for us; once he gets his balance, he throws his [short, fat] arms up in the air and beams.