The big batch of italian artisan bread settles into its bowl to rise.
I dust the flour off my hands and look around.
I see work done.
The newly organized laundry room, a breath of fresh air and clean space each time I look at it.
The small load of clean laundry on the freezer, waiting to be folded.
The closet I tackled yesterday, the piled high desk now smiling in the wake of order. I feel productive.
In my rush of jumping on the day, grabbing it by the horns, getting those loaves to rise,
I forgot my breakfast.
I got the children fed. And a preschool lesson taught.
Even my devotional. Feeling such need for a fresh word in my heart.
For strength. For a heart cleanse. For new strength.
But my mind races above the powerful words, sucked again into this blender of responsibilities.
My daughter bangs on the back door. Weeping as though her heart is broken. Over some small thing.
I remember last night, after a long evening away from home, she cried like this.
She was beyond tired, feeling a bit sick and out of sorts. She cried because it was all she knew to do.
And I cradled her in my arms and whispered comfort and still she cried.
Till she fell asleep, and her exhaustion met rest.
Then her face relaxed into that peaceful expression of heaven.
Those wails echo in my heart.
A conversation left hanging rattles around in my mind like a sharp pebble in my shoe,
bothering, hurting, rubbing.
Unanswered prayers sound hollow and lame, very old and worn by now.
My clean house jeers at the mess in my heart, silent and invisible to the common eye.
And my hands shake. I need to eat. To feel the surge of calm of God in my heart, and strength in my body.
Something catches my eye. The rare sight of a young doe, sprinting franticly along the road side.
I step closer to the window.
She clears the ditch and bounds into the field, her white tail bobbing until she is lost in the brown autumn day.
So fleeting. So beautiful.
A word or two whisper in my heart and I go searching.
I find it in Isaiah 30:15. They sing to my heart.
“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength…”
Hope warms my heart. Blows a wind of fresh air on my heart.
HE has what I need.
HE is what I crave.
HE is my rest.
The noise fades in my heart. Even just a little. But its real, and I know it.
Strength comes silently, flooding my veins. My heart calms.
Cause HE is in control.