My Day

5:24 a.m. The alarm goes off. It is my husband’s alarm; he is the one who has someplace to be. I, on the other hand, rarely have to be anywhere except within earshot of my children. Right now, my children are quiet. They are sleeping angels in their own beds, so with every tiny noise that is made I jump a little and await the waking of small bodies. My husband showers, dresses, pours a travel mug of coffee, gets his lunch together, and leaves the house. Just like that.

5:45 a.m. I lie in my bed and look at my phone. But why? I have searched for an answer, and what rings in my head is not the sound of someone trying to reach me, but my own silent yearning for communication. My phone rarely provides communication anymore. Instead, it provides false entertainment and small heartbreaks. What I see when I look at my phone is that everyone else is having a beautiful day and I am cleaning up spills and trying to formulate meals in the midst of constant movement. I cannot reach my friends. Neither can I be reached by them. Yet somehow knowing what others are doing makes me feel as though my adult relationships have not faded. I try to place myself in their world, but I often end up as The Monkey in the Middle, reaching for something that I cannot, or should not have right now.

5:55 a.m. I hear the thumping sound of feet and a giggle or two. I know these are the joyous sounds of life so I smile and I cower all at once. I am incapable, yet the only one able to do the work of this day.

1:13 p.m. I sit on my couch with my laptop and my phone trying to recall moments from my day. I walked outside with my barefoot children. They climbed trees. We made pancakes. We all went to the bathroom. We fed the dog. We all went to the bathroom again. We cleaned goo from a basin in the bathroom cabinet. One child bled. One child tried desperately to communicate with me, but mostly just whined. I tell myself this is not my day. Then I hear it from my Father, “No. This is the day I have made.”

Today, I applied someone else’s band aid. I gave commands to prevent the squishing of an infant. I cleaned the crevices of six human ears. Herein lies something that cannot be made but that has already been made for us:

I cannot make beauty. But I can live in it.

June 30, 2015 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: Motherhood, Prose, Thankfulness, Worship | Leave a comment