The Quiet

Today is April 1st. Time is ticking along steadily, and spring is finally here. Though one wouldn't know that from the drab, dreary, cold day that it is. It is quiet, with only the rhythmic hum of the washing machine swirling, and the rain pattering outside. Charlotte is asleep and Parker is at preschool.

Moments to myself are as precious as gold coins pressed into my hot little hands. How to spend them? Napping always sounds enticing. Of course, there are dishes waiting for me in the sink, floors to be swept and washed, emails to be answered, phone calls to be made. There are the gems I could buy- knitting or sewing- some cherished me-time. Or I could be doing any number of other everyday, ordinary tasks.

But the truth is, I just want to sit here. My mind is as full as my steaming Polish Pottery mug of peppermint tea. Aah, the quiet. How long will it last? I must not waste a precious moment. The flutter in my heart tells me that too soon I will hear my babe crying for me or the laundry will beep, insisting on my attention. But my souls tells me to savor it as I do my coconut tea cake. So for now, I'll sit.

Motherhood is funny. Life is funny. Time is funny. It's all one big series of to-do's that creep back to my list seemingly as quickly as I have crossed them off. Children grow too fast and too slow. Nights are too short. Days seem long. The things I yearn to do I hardly get to. Instead I train my son to say please and thank you, I fold tiny onesies, and I yowl when I step on the hundredth matchbox fire engine camouflaged on the rug.

Yesterday was Resurrection Sunday. It was a day to remember my Beloved Savior and all that He has done for me. CJ and I have been watching The Bible mini series on the History channel and last night was the conclusion. Tears streamed down my face, as I watched this actor playing Jesus, be betrayed, beaten mercilessly, and to have a mock crown shoved onto his head, the thorns cutting deep. I watched him be nailed to a cross, and to cry towards Heaven, "Have mercy on them, Father, for they know not what they are doing." The words in my Bible coming to life, as I envisioned what it was like for the real Jesus, my Lord, on that dark, yet glorious day, when Love was fulfilled.

How childish I felt, how foolish, how humbled, to think of all He has done for me. Poor, wretched, always-failing, me. My trivial sins seem less trivial when I realize they were the force behind the blows, driving nails into His hands and feet. How petty my complaints seem when I consider how He carried that cross, knowing full well what would happen. My cushy life is only possible because of His sacrifices, His love and blood shed for ME. I ought to praise Him every second of my every days.

But how often do I do that? Praise for him, and thankfulness is often snubbed out by my exhaustion of being a mother of two small children. I grumble when I am awoken in the night. My tongue is quick to speak impatiently. My thoughts hover over myself, earthly things, and things I want and need to make my life easier, better.

My Jesus has placed me here, in this day, for His purposes and plans. Some of these purposes and plans He chooses to reveal to me, others He knows are too lofty for my small brain to handle. I must trust that His plans are best for me. That He wants me to carry my own [feather light, compared to His] cross with joy, gratitude, and faith in the promises His Book spells out for me.

He wants me to wash sticky fingers and kiss owies and tell my children stories of Truth. He wants me to have dance parties in my living room on rainy days and to make silly smiles out of bananas. He allows me to endure the pain of watching my children stumble, and encouraging them to get back up. He allows me discomfort and asks me to turn to Him for strength and renewal. In every moment, He is here beside me, approving of His plan for my life, even when I reject it, doubt or scoff.

No task is too small if it is filled with Love. Nothing is wasted. Not my repeated training that seems sometimes to fall on deaf ears, not the sandwiches I make and set in lunchboxes early in the morning, not my fervent or even mindless prayers for my Charlotte and Parker. For my husband. Not a one.

I must mother in a way that points my little ones to Christ. I must show them joy, discipline, faithfulness, sacrifice, and Truth. For my Lord has done all for me. He has done all for them. Every small thing we do in His name, He will redeem. As He raised from the dead fulfilling promises of old and promise for our futures, He will fulfill His purposes through us.

What glorious reminders He has given me this Easter. How magnificent it was for Him to set me aside as His own, and to place these two little souls into my care, for Him to bless me with a partner and friend, my husband. I am so thankful for my Heavenly Father, who has chosen me to be a mother. May we all walk our own roads with diligence and confidence, that He has set them before us, and He is ever beside, before, and behind us. May we see the Gospel in the mundane moments. May Christ permeate our minds and hearts, with the blessed Hope driving us to complete our duties with joy.