Unrushed Mornings

Each morning, I rise by 5:15 am.  I spend the dark hours, the only time in which my home is silent, with Jesus.  And it sustains me.

In a year  in which nearly everything has changed, He has not.  Though He has called me to do more, learn more and be more than ever before, He has ALSO been my strength and wisdom through it all.

5:15 has become my joy and delight.

My solace.

Yep, I stumble out of bed.  I immediately start the coffee pot.  I am bleary-eyed and weary.  If you read my journal you would laugh at my level of weary, but in the weary He meets me.  In the quiet and desperate and weary, He meets me.

Of all the things I have ever done, THIS has brought me to my knees. 

It is interesting really.  In many ways it should not be the hardest and most helpless.  I have waited on governments and finance and healing.  But, THIS, this teaching of my son - causes me to feel most lacking.

I think, perhaps, it is because THIS is all on me.  Governments, finance, healing - they all rest on many shoulders.  BUT this, this home schooling of my resistant learner, that falls squarely on me.

All me.

And I do not have a clue what I am doing most days.  I mean, I have a lesson plan, however I have no proof or experience that it will move him in the right direction.  Just a God-given instinct.

So, daily Jesus and I have coffee.  And we confer about Joshua and work and weariness and relationships and hopes and dreams and worries and fears.  I hand it all over, and He gives me the grace and wisdom to stumble through another day.

5:15 am in my daily miracle.

The greatest blessing in this year of home schooling is in unrushed mornings.  I spend as much time with Jesus as I need.  Some days we drink a whole pot of coffee together.  Many days I have time to exercise, too.  But first Jesus. Always Jesus.

Each day as I watch the bus drive by, its lights blinking in the dark, I give thanks that my littlest ones are still asleep.  Each day, Mataya wakes up and stumbles from her bed with her pink blanket clutched in her hand.  She finds me, and instead of rushing her to get dressed and out the door, we sit in the rocking chair.  For many long moments we snuggle.  I pray for our day, and eventually she climbs down to get dressed.  And every day, I give thanks because those first moments are pure and peaceful.  

So today, as I begin another week - rather than weary (though the workload is stacked as high as the snowbanks and the extreme cold of winter refuses to abate), I am thankful.

These quiet, unrushed mornings are a beautiful, life-giving gift.

Thank You, Jesus.

Just Another Sunday

This morning, I paraded into church about 1 minute late, with three of my children in tow. 

Only moments before, Chad had gotten called out unexpectedly to move snow.  Joshua had remembered, at the last minute, that he could not survive church without coffee.  Then he had set his precious cup of joe on the bench that I sat on to put on my shoes.  The coffee proceeded to spill all over the bench and floor.  I cleaned up our mess with a huff and shooed everyone out the door.

As we sat down in church, I leaned over to Brenna pointing to her very disheveled youngest siblings with a roll of my eyes.  They looked a wreck.

Mataya had static hair creating a crazy halo all around her entire head, leggings which in no way matched her "fancy" dress, and an inability to sit still or be quiet.  Yet, she is also currently equally incapable of going anywhere without me.  While she looks to be the most outgoing kid around, force her to be separated from me and panic (true panic, not a preschool fit) ensues.

Joshua was wearing a ski mask to cover his too long and totally out of control hair.  His pants were too short and splattered with blue paint.  His face was showing traces of toothpaste - although since he currently hates any hygiene related task, toothpaste on his face is actually a victory.

And if  I am honest, looking at them, I felt a failure.  In that moment, I felt a deep longing to have children who were perfectly put together.  Children who made me appear to be a momma who has it together.  There was no way ANYONE would glance at us and assume I had ANYTHING figured out.  This morning, I was not wishing for a perfect life.  I just wished it looked like I was paying attention.

Now, I have been doing this parenting thing a looooooooong time.  I truly can not remember going to church and NOT having a preschool child to consider.  I know my goal as a mom is to raise ADULTS who are independent thinkers, confident, defined by whose they are NOT how they are dressed.  I know that I allowed my youngest children to leave the house dressed in their crazy attire on purpose. BUT dang, couldn't they become independent and strong WHILE looking descent?!?

(Please hear my own sense of humor in all of this!!!)

We surviving church (come on momma's it does feel that way some days, does it not?).  We returned home, and as we cleaned up lunch, I confessed my flaky thoughts to Brenna Joy.  We laughed and laughed at the crazy of her siblings.  (I will never know how to thank Brenna for her free thinking and acceptance of her crazy siblings.  Many teens would be too humiliated to go anywhere with them!  Brenna praises Mataya when she proudly chooses crazy outfits, telling her that if she feels beautiful, then she looks beautiful. And she takes Joshua's current disdain for clothes and hair fairly hillarious.)  Brenna giggled when I told her that just once I wish someone would look at those two and think. . . "Wow! Their mom has it figured out!"

And my Brenna-girl responded with the kindest, sweetest words.  She said, "Mom, when people see the kids, they will know right away that you are patient and care more about your kids than what other people think."

Oh, how I needed her encouragement today. 

February

I woke up this morning at 4 am in a cold sweat, my heart racing, my entire body alert with anxiety.  Knowing I would never be able to roll over and go back to sleep, I tiptoed into the family room to grab my Bible and journal.  I journaled worries while praying and fighting that evil enemy, anxiety, off with the name of Jesus.

Over the next hour, my spirit calmed.  I went back to a fitful sleep for an hour or so.  However, I struggled all day, vacillating between sleepy and irritable, all the while inquiring of the Lord, "What is up with me?"

As the day wore on the answer emerged.

February.

UFF!  February is always such a hurdle for me.

It is dark and cold.

Chad works long, crazy hours moving snow.

I work long, crazy hours, parenting solo and billing that snow.

And fresh air comes with a price. . . frostbite.

The rest of Christmas is long past.

Spring seems a distant dream.

The tax bill looms closer.

And just when I think I have everything figured out financially, one minor emergency or another pops up that will put a pinch in my plan.

BUT deeper than all that is the very fact that February is a spiritual battle ground for me.  It is the month I am most likely to struggle with sleepless nights, irrational worries, and very real anxiety.

For some reason, naming a problem makes me feel better.  More powerful.  Capable (maybe) of conquering it.

As the day has rolled into night, I have been naming the fears that flood my gut and brain.  I have been labeling them.

They seem to come in a few categories:
-not actually my problem
-borrowed problem (meaning it may be possible but there is no reason to think it will happen)
-irrational problem
-real problem that I need to turn over to the Lord and wait on Him
-real problem I need to turn over to the Lord AND work on as He leads

This year, I feel called to claim PEACE as my anthem, my goal, my heart song.  Which means I need to face February in a new way.  I need to claim it as a battle ground, knowing that I will likely be attacked.  I need to arm myself.

I need to rest.

Always, always when I feel peace fleeing. . .  When I feel stress rising. . .  When the sounds of my children calling for me. . . AGAIN make me want to yell a snide response. . . When Chad snoring makes me want to grab a pillow and head to a hotel.  When I have had ENOUGH. . .

I need rest.

So tonight, instead of scrubbing dirty floors and finishing a work project I started this afternoon, I am blogging.  I am shining His flashlight on my soul.  I am drawing a deep breath and feeling my muscles relax (even with my exhausted husband snoring like a chainsaw in the family room and my four year old asking for one more snack from her bedroom.)

Knowing I need rest (which to me means white space. . . time when I am not striving to accomplish one task or another) kind of stresses me out.  I don't know how to rest right now.  There is just so much to do.

And then I reread this:

Girl, read your Bible.

-author unknown

You can eat all the kale,

buy all the things,

lift all the weights,

take all the trips,

trash all that doesn't spark joy,

wash your face and hustle like mad,

but it you don't rest

your soul in Jesus,

you'll never find peace and purpose.

So, if peace is my goal, I must rest.

Jesus, I do not know how to rest in this season.  It feels like there is too much to do to rest.  And although busy drains me of peace and joy and hope, there is something addictive about it.  Keeping busy pushes thought away.  It gives me a sense of power and control.  But that is the problem, isn't it Lord.  I was never supposed to be in control, You are.  You are!  I don't know how to rest when I want to run and hide.  I don't know how to lean into You right now.  To just be still and know.  It makes me feel squirmy and wiggly inside.  Teach me, Lord.  For I know in the depths of my soul that what I long for is You.  So wrap me in your arms, just as I have wrapped my overtired babies, and hold me close as I learn to relax in Your embrace and trust that You always have my very best in mind.  Hold me, Jesus, I pray.  I need You.