This morning the warm autumn sun has been streaming through my family room window, the pattern of panes dancing on the floor. In my back yard, the cat tails are transitioning from a sea of green to a marsh of browns, and when the breeze ripples through them, it is beautiful. Inside, my two older children play with dolls: putting them to bed, feeding them when they "cry," singing them songs. My smallest child will soon wake from an early morning nap, the result of waking earlier than usual this morning.

It is a peaceful morning. The kind I look for every day.

This week hasn't all been so picturesque. I was sick on Monday. The throwing up kind of sick. But my family is wonderful and helped me, even when I didn't know how to ask for help. (Fortunately, my husband is better at calling for reinforcement than I am.)

And yesterday, my melancholy thoughts took shape in the form of choleric behavior. I washed everything that has ever needed washing in my house. I ironed bedsheets, which is something I simply never find time for on most occasion. I vacuumed every floor, and then set about to violently scrub toilets. I wondered as I toiled if it is true that His hope means my toil is not in vain.

There is always fear in me. Fear of failing... especially of failing my children. I struggle to remember that He is their Source--not I. But this year, I have been encouraged to look to Him, as I watch her.

Truly, it is He that is the Author and Finisher; the Beginning and End.

Not me...

Not me.

And this, so much more than sparkling sunlight and bright-colored leaves, is peace.