Rush Hour

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The morning rush is over. Breakfast dishes are cleaned up, teeth are brushed, children are settled down doing schoolwork. I sit with the 9 and 7 year-old discussing addition and multiplication, months of the year and the difference between Celsius and Fahrenheit, and the 4 year old asks what 'less' means. The baby crawls into my lap and I bury my face in the back of her neck, inhaling her baby sweetness. The kids look out the window at a squirrel eating nuts, and a Blue Jay stealing eggs from the compost pile. The 4 year old asks what does 'adding' mean? I must start giving him more attention. They all need more of my attention but there is only so much of me that can go around. The 15 year-old is struggling with Algebra and needs encouragement to take on more leadership in a situation he is facing. The 12 year-old needs me to listen to her and smile at her more and help her with her writing. The 17 year-old doesn't think she needs me, but she does. All day, I will face the needs of my children , not to mention my husband. Did I kiss him goodbye this morning? Did I smile at him? Did I notice when he left? And what are those needs met with? My feeble attempts at being a wife and mother are all I have to offer. I am wholly inadequate for this job. Any good that comes out of this whole wife/mothering thing will be mostly in spite of my efforts, not because of them, and only because of the grace of God. I wash dishes, praying for the children, asking God to be with them, help them, fill in the gaps that I have left in their lives. I change the baby's diaper, thanking God for this precious child, but sighing over the millionth diaper I have changed in the last 17 years, and wonder if I am making any difference in her life. In any of their lives? I plow through laundry piles, touching  their clothes and folding them, and wonder, am I doing enough for this child, and when is the last time I really connected with that child? I know that only with God's help can I do this. I rest in this. But do I rest completely, as He wants me to? Am I leaning heavily enough on Him? Am I giving Him enough of my attention? The baby runs to me, crying, wanting me to hold her. Perhaps I should take a lesson from her and run to His arms whenever I need Him.

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