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One day might look like...
A woman wakes up before dawn, washes her face and brushes her teeth. She does a few quick stretches to get the blood moving, and pours herself a glass of water. She walks around the house, opening the blinds so that when the sun comes up its rays will give the area new life. Her day is a long day, though usually never long enough.
She looks at her watch, a nylon blue Timex. 5:22. She has just over an hour before her 14 month old ball-of-energy little boy will stir, at which point the day will catapult into lightening speed. She likes mornings best. It is the only point of day where time seems to stand still. It is the time of day for just her and her God.
On her knees. She falls down on them easily now, her head burying into the couch cushion. Her husband has been up since 4a.m., and he is gone now. But coffee has been made and it awaits her in a red thermos on the kitchen table. Sometimes her husband even sets out a cup for her beside it. She will enjoy that in a bit.
Thank you for another day. She has learned not to take one for granted. The words that follow from her lips are too precious, too intimate to write. But just as His Word promises, He has satisfied her in the morning with His love. This moment, this time, sets up the rest of her day with joy and peace no matter what chaos will present itself. Everything she does, every decision she makes, and the success or failure of it all hinges on this moment. When she misses it, she runs around like everyone else... too much to do, not enough time to do it, too much to worry about, not enough energy to tackle it, too many things "needed," not enough money for it all, etc., etc., etc.
But today she has met with grace. She has been emptied, and filled again. The exchange is one she would make any time: her baggage and worries for His peace and strength. She marvels at how she could ever let herself miss this, though it has happened many days.
His Word. It is like a treasure to her, a fine meal, she takes it all in, savoring every bite. It comes alive to her now, and especially after prayer. The words jump off the page and speak to her, like a friend, one that loves enough to speak truth. The truth often cuts, but the voice is always tender, full of love.
Time flies by and she hears him, her little Isaac Bendigo. He is playing in his crib, but if she doesn't act soon his playful sounds will turn to cries. She warms his bottle, thinking it is time to be done with the bottle. She runs in to meet him. He is standing up, holding onto the railing of the crib, legs bouncing with excitement and she walks toward him. He says, "Dadda!" She is not sure if this is because he wants his daddy or if he doesn't know how to say mommy yet. He will say "dadda" all day.
She sweeps him up into her arms and kisses his face. She talks to him normally as if he understands everything she is saying. She changes his diaper, gets him dressed and takes him to the living room where he will sit near her and drink his bottle. The fireplace is turned on, and he points. "Yes, fire," she says.
They will do many things together today. They will go outside and see the flowers and watch for doggies. They will hit the wind chime and rock the rocking chair. They will go play with the steering wheel in the car. They will pray and eat and walk. They will read stories and cuddle.
They will also do things separately. Isaac will play in his room alone. He will take two naps before the day is over. That is when she will write, when she will clean, do laundry, make phone calls, dishes, make dinner, pay the bills, and do research.
Her husband will come home and rest, because his day is even longer than hers. After his short nap in the hammock, he will come in and play with Isaac until dinner is ready. They will all eat and talk, because the fellowship of family is found at the table. Before the sky darkens they will go on a walk through their old, quiet neighborhood, where they will see goats, horses and plenty of dogs. If they are lucky, they will see a deer or a fox.
The loop they do is usually about a mile, and sooner than they realize they are back to their small brick home where the dishes of dinner await on the table. It is not a bad feeling, it is a warm feeling. The woman's husband gets the bath water going for Isaac... it is time to clean up after another full day.
After bubbles and rubber duckies and foam bath toys and many giggles, things quiet down. The bedtime routine is simple: PJ's are put on, lights go down, Isaac and the woman sit in the rocker for a few books. He picks them out. They will most likely include balls and cars and tractors and doggies. Daddy comes in to pray and Isaac goes down, but not alone. He has not one, not two, but three stuffed animals he likes to have nearby: a small teddy, a giant teddy and a doggy head attached to a blanket. He rolls around with all three until they're all, Isaac included, tangled in a pile. He will end with his butt in the air, fast asleep.
The woman and her dear husband will cherish the next few hours of stillness together. They might read by the fire, they might sing a few songs, they might have to do work on their laptops... but they will seek to end with an early night in bed, with plenty of time for
pillow talk and prayers.