Quiet Morning

Quiet MorningAs a mother of two young girls, one of which is just turned four and still remains home with me, quiet mornings are in very short supply. So are quiet afternoons and evenings for that matter, though I wouldnt trade this time with my children for anything. I realize this moment with them is but a blink, and while I admit to being frazzled and overwhelmed at times by this season of life, I am certain I will look back one day and ache for those early

As a mother of two young girls, one of which is just turned four and still remains home with me, “quiet mornings” are in very short supply. So are quiet afternoons and evenings for that matter, though I wouldn’t trade this time with my children for anything. I realize this moment with them is but a blink, and while I admit to being frazzled and overwhelmed at times by this season of life, I am certain I will look back one day and ache for those early morning snuggles and evening post-bath zoomies, during which going to bed is the very last thing on my children’s mind. I find myself tired and feeling thin a lot of the time, never quite able to catch up, some of which is due to ongoing chronic illness, though mostly because my tiny employers keep me very busy - and quite entertained!

And so quiet mornings exist as more of a fantasy - or rather a hope I have for myself one day when my children are grown. Mornings I might wake up naturally as the sunlight touches my eyelids and I slowly ascend into the land of waking. Mornings that don’t begin with a jolt to consciousness and then hours of demands and contentious sisters, cooking and cleaning. Mornings I don’t leave extra time on the backend so we aren’t rushing out the door, only to be filled with frantic searching for a lost toy or jacket that cannot possibly be substituted for another. It is by God’s grace alone we manage to make it to school on time each day. I jump out of the car, make sure the water bottle didn’t fall out, plant kisses on my daughter’s lips with whispered reminders in her ear that she is deeply loved by Jesus and be kind to others. Exhale. Back into the car to try and get the other one to finish her strawberries before I capitulate to demands for pancakes and whip cream.

So for now it is only in my heart that I walk with Jesus quietly. Yet despite tumult that often times feel like I’m performing in a sit-com, I feel Him meeting me in the overwhelm, in the fray that is motherhood. I feel Him extending peace and providing a strength not of my own, calling me to dig deep into the well of my soul and rise with patience and compassion. Not every morning, mind you. Some mornings - some entire days - I simply fall at the feet of Jesus and gulp down the grace He so freely offers. And that is enough. He is enough.