Reality

It's 3:34pm as I sit down. An hour ago, I brought my little girls upstairs for nap, and it isn't until an hour later that I am successfully tip-toeing out of the room. The baby has a cold and it seems each time she finally drifts off, a fit of coughing stirs her and we are back to square one. I feel badly for her, but I confess to also feeling frustrated. I just want to go downstairs and move on already.

I am tired. The weight of life would like to crush me, and I would like at least five uninterrupted minutes to process.

It doesn't help that my chores for the day are barely dented. I'd like to say this is because it was a successful school morning and that the older kids and I lost ourselves in learning. The truth is, I barked at Bronwyn because she was singing instead of finishing her math assignment and I brushed off Jack's request to work on reading because I was too busy trying to shuffle six loads of laundry through the washer and dryer.

And, sure enough, despite my efforts, the laundry is only halfway done and the loads that are finished are far from folded. They're still in baskets, stacked in the corner of the dining room. Across the room is a drying rack full of clothes. Somehow I don't think professional decorators would approve of this style.

Lunchtime was supposed to be eaten while I did our daily read aloud. I have a vision of what this will look like: healthy food, the quiet hum of the furnace, my voice rising and falling with each paragraph, enraptured children who hang on every word. Sometimes we get kind of close to that, but a lot of days are like today: I was on the phone with a shutter company the whole mealtime and never got to the reading before the kids were going crazy around the table. (Jack was literally laying on his belly on the surface of the table while Gabriel and Bronwyn spun him around like a lazy susan when I hung up.)

"Forget reading. Just put your plates in the dishwasher," I say as I try to get a washcloth wet and applied to Claire's face before she wriggles out of the highchair and does a headfirst dive into the floor.

"Can we play wii?"

I almost say yes, but I know that's not what a "good" mom would say. Screen time should be kept to the minimum, I remind myself. Besides, that's not just psychobabble-- the truth is we're all happier when we stick with that.

So I tell them to get bundled up for some outside time instead. And-- oh!-- the drama as we tackle this next routine. One complains about a headache and I, being the merciful person that I am, say I don't care and that the fresh air will help them. Instant tears, and I wonder inwardly if I'm being too harsh.

(Now I know I was, since that very child is currently flushed and feverish.)

Claire is hanging on my legs and crying as I dress Aubrey in snow clothes because she is old enough to know that everyone but her is on the precipice of something besides staying inside. I am in a hurry and don't take the time to address her whining, and we all get more and more flustered and irritated as it continues. The older three are good these days about helping each other get ready to go outside, but today all our moods are off and the job, although done, is done with much grumbling, bossing, and bickering.

I guiltily accept that this impatient and critical mood originates with nobody else but me. I stop and tell everyone that I'm sorry for not setting an example of cheerfulness and long-suffering. I impatiently wish apologies were like an Easy button and would instantaneously alter all our attitudes.

(Huh.)

This is reality.

Yet... here's another reality: the grace of God wraps us up and carries us. He grants me repentance and forgiveness again and again and again. Although the morning felt more like trudging through muck than dancing through a field of daisies, it's in many ways a matter of perspective.

Jackson and I enjoyed quite a laugh about a silly poem we read together. I felt so blessed when Bronwyn came out of the downstairs bathroom shortly after Gabriel cleaned it, exclaiming, "Gabriel, that bathroom smells so good now! Thank you for cleaning it!" Daniel stopped in this morning between meetings to show us all the new-to-us vehicle that God has so amazingly provided, and the kids jumped up and down in excitement over it. There has been worship music playing almost non-stop thus far and the peace of His presence has been sinking deep into my soul, despite the oceans that rage around me. Nobody talked back when I doled out chores, school, and even out-of-the-ordinary requests (like getting Claire changed and dressed so I could keep breakfast prep going).

And let's be honest: the kids don't mind the unfolded laundry. They don't care about the crumbs under the dining room table, the painfully disorganized bathroom cabinet, the challenges of life. They are peaceful and content. They're not worried or harried.

I'm not saying that stuff doesn't matter... but it doesn't.

Not really.

You want to know the eternal, lasting, biggest, and surest reality?

He's got the whole world in His hands. That includes us and the very daily-ness of our existence. He sees it all. He cares about it all. He's got grace for us in it all.

Beauty for ashes, right? That's what He gives us.

And so the ashes that the enemy would like to have me focus on... I choose to trade them in. I trade them in for His beauty.

He is my reality.