I have a confession to make. Yesterday, after both of my children were down for naps and I had few moments of silence, I went to put something in the pantry and suddenly lost it. Literally plopped my butt on the floor right there in the hallway and started bawling my eyes out. I don't even remember what triggered it. All I know is, all the stress, anxiety, and overwhelmed feelings from trying to do this thing called life came pouring out of me. I just sat there and cried and cried. And wished that for a moment, I could be the child who gets to not worry about anything other than the moment before me, who can just run and sit in his or her mommy's or daddy's lap and be told everything is ok. Who doesn't have to worry about budgeting and meal planning and coupons and grocery shopping and cleaning and working and laundry and taking care of a family, much less Bible study and reading about how to parent and updating pictures and writing thank you notes and blogging (what's that?) and church and volunteering and small group and Bible study. Who can just be. Who can just play with a toy or watch TV without worrying about anything on a to-do list.
Then I flashed back to the days when I could come home from work or another outing and just sit down on the couch for 15 minutes and unwind in silence and know that I could sacrifice those 15 minutes. I never cared about the silence back then. If anything, I didn't like it. I'd turn on music to eliminate it. And as for sacrificing 15 minutes, back then I didn't think the 15 minutes was enough. I didn't appreciate it, because I wished I had 30 or 60 minutes instead. Now, oh, how I cherish the silence. And how I would love to have those 15 minutes upon arriving home. When there is silence, I notice it and appreciate it with all I have. And the 15 minutes upon arriving home are gone. When I come home, there are two little boys (and two dogs!) immediately grappling for my attention, wanting to play or eat or needing a bath or fresh clothes or for me to save them from some catastrophe. I don't know how you parents of more than two kids don't have a mental breakdown every time you come home from your outings. I have to pray myself through those first 15 minutes nearly every time.
And then, as I sat on the floor crying and thinking all these thoughts, my mind traveled to visions of those two little boys who make my life so busy and stressful, and I thought about how much I love them. And how much indescribable joy I have in my life thanks to them. And how I wouldn't trade anything in my life if it meant I couldn't have them just the way they are.
And, as I always tend to do when I think about the way I love my sons, I then thought about God. And His love for me and my sons as our Father, which is greater than any love I could ever give. And His love for His Son, whom He sacrificed for all of us. And when my thoughts go there, I am filled with gratitude and awe and a realization that it's all going to be ok. That this is just a phase, and that I need to just breathe and muddle through the best I can and continue to appreciate the small moments as I continuously try to do. I have to teach those little boys to lean on their Father, and the best way to do that is let them see me doing it myself. He is the parent I can run to, He is always holding me. It's all going to be ok.