The evening is fresh and clean.
The rainstorm left behind puddles still as glass, reflecting the sky.
My two munchkins scurry about picking up the fallen branches,
eager for the promised story which will follow.
It’s been far too long since I wrote. Life hasn’t stopped.
Far from it. But the daily roll of laundry and meals, dishes and moments with children call.
Tiny heels pound my side and each day I can’t wait till the end of September when this little girl will at last be here.
In my hands, and not just my ribs.
The garden grows. Weeds take full advantage of this wet, wet year.
I wonder, and then I smile and shake my head…
No, this is not the year for the spotless garden.
Letters are learned, numbers counted. Verses memorized, preschool materials perused.
How these little ones grow, and retain even the littlest things. It’s not in vain, this day in and day out repetition.
These little moments carved in eternity, these shining eyes sparkling into mine.
The hand on my shoulder, the unexpected “Mom, I love you.”
Little hands rest on my belly, eyes dance when fingers feel those little heels.
The smiles grow wide, and they dance away in excitement. We can’t wait. Not one of us.
Sometimes the dishes, and the calls from the bathroom, the laundry begging to be folded threaten to hide the heavens.
How holy can washing dishes be? Helping the child find shoes, again?
I fight to smile at times, feeling lost in the demands, the needs, the unrealistic goals I’ve put on myself.
But see, it’s here, in my need, that the grace is most real.
It’s when I feel stretched ever so thin that God is vastly deep and wide.
It’s in the moment when the mess swallows me whole that God plunges me into the ocean of His ability.
It’s all about looking through His eyes.
Believing His words.
And letting Him fill my heart with joy, here in these priceless, precious moments, never to be experienced again.
So why should I shun this place of need? Why should I cringe when once again, the only place I can go, is into His presence?
The field now sits in shadow. The sunset glow illuminates only the top half of the trees. Another day gone, done, over.
Tomorrow is waiting to be unwrapped. Discovered with anticipation…
Good night folks, I’ve got to run.
There are two kids waiting for a story,
and that won’t wait.