I woke at 2 AM to the raspy coughing cry of my too-recently
potty-trained three year old. My hand was damp with evidence of a hard sleep
and the couch’s texture was imprinted on my cheek in the still-lit living room.
Bleary-eyed and aching I assembled a pair of miniature underwear, clean and dry
pajamas, and the bedsheet I washed just last night before I stumbled up the
stairs, hoping he hadn’t wakened his little brother yet.
I don’t pass out on the couch every
night, but the combination of sick children, multiple night wake-ups, and a new
pre-natal vitamin that I blame for my inability to sleep before midnight landed
me there, apparently imbuing me with at least enough energy to change sheets, pajamas,
and throw the wet things in the laundry before collapsing on the floor beside
the sweet, demanding little prince’s bed as he insisted, “Sit by me, mom.” This
is becoming enough of a routine that I have become more efficient –at handling
the crisis, and at comforting the soaking, smelly, precious little boy.
Even so, there are times when yet
another request for water seems to demand more energy than I know where to
find. Times when I just want to sit and eat for more than 20 seconds before encountering
the demands of little boys. Or times
like just now, when I find a huge wet spot on the couch from who knows what
(not pee thank goodness, it doesn’t stink!) and just move over rather than deal
with it, for now. Other times, such as when my oldest son reminds me that
yelling at people isn’t kind, and I have to explain that sometimes it is
appropriate – including when he’s stepping on the lid of the toy box where his
little brother’s finger are pinched. Times
like this, I feel all served out and I wonder if there really is anything left
in me worth giving.
Most days, I do not treasure the
requests for “More water mom?” or the need to change poopy diapers or dress
energetic little boys who simply do not want to come and be made modest. But there are times that I am reminded that
this physically demanding time is only a beginning, a stage that will soon end.
Now, I am teaching little ones to potty and dress and button and zip, to feed
and sip from cups without lids, and to clean up their own messes. But one day, they will have learned these
lessons, and then they will be learning to think and understand for themselves. They will not always take what I say as
truth, but, Lord willing, will learn to seek out the Truth for themselves. There will be a time when I look back on the
requests for a snack or a “squeezy hug” as the easy things, because then they
will be asking tough questions – questions that I may even then not know the
whole answer for.
So for now I look at the chaos and
cacophony and feel the utter lack – and know that God is here too. In the midst of the days that bleed one into
the next as though there is no change, He is here and He is teaching and
leading and touching young hearts in ways that cause me to wonder and marvel
when I glimpse what is happening beneath the necessary and the seen.
And He is still working on me
too. He reminds me not to be weary in
doing good – “For in due time” the harvest will come. He reminds me that He is
the one who began a good work in me, and he will indeed be “faithful to
complete it.” I am not alone, and it is not my own strength that will carry me
through this weakness. So two days and 14
loads of laundry later, I find myself still going, still giving, and still
wondering what in the world we will eat for dinner tonight. And I know that it is because of his mercy
that I am not consumed, and even have the ability to think and pray even in the
midst of hacking coughs and crying children.
It’s not because I’m super
mom. A glimpse at the dusty corners,
cluttered counters, finger-printed windows, and disorganized calendar will tell
anyone who cares to look that I’m not even close. But I am mom, and I am here
by the grace of God. And by His grace, I
will be faithful – through the wearying months of pregnancy, the sleepless
nights with an infant, and on through the years of teaching, training, and
praying for these little lives I’ve been entrusted with.
So I stand up from this couch again
– this holy ground where I have been refreshed and renewed. I may not have anything left in me worth
giving – but I can still give from the abundance of the one who gave himself
for me.
Now let’s see what is going on
behind that closed door over there. . .
