It's later than I would like it to be for sitting down to empty my mind of the words tumbling around inside of it. That's par for the course. The time just slipped away as I lingered in nursing my sweet (should I use handsome? Still adjusting to using more masculine baby adjectives) baby boy. Subdued from a fever, I willing lavished my attention on him, as my mama instincts prescribed extra cuddling to ease any discomforts. Between that sweet time and catching up on a few e-mails from old friends, my clock changed from the nine o'clock hour to the eleventh hour in a hurry.
There's the "take care of yourself Mama so you can be ready for what comes tomorrow" half of me that says just go to bed. Before it is REALLY late. Then there's the other half of me sitting here right now that just wants to get my thoughts on paper. Er, in typing. On the computer screen. Whatever it is we do these days to "write." If my unwritten thoughts from a day were interesting at all, and if those words could be miraculously organized into neat sentences and paragraphs and even chapters...I could probably write several books. They might not be published or even sold, but they'd be books.
And then there's that reminder, oh so gentle and subtle, of why those books are unwritten. And might always be. Never mind that I can't keep the living room floor, the steps, or my kitchen counters free of this life that is happening. I seemed to have overlooked all of that surrounding me.
As I finished up finding a home for the few groceries we picked up 2 hours ago, there was one misplaced item I didn't miss. A book. Left upside down, open to the page where its reader had stopped, lying on the tiny counter next to my stove that is reserved for drinking cups and recyclable containers during the day and nothing after dinner, definitely NOT where that book belongs. My first thought was along the lines of "she is always leaving her books everywhere and never where they should be."
For some reason, tonight that was a fleeting thought and what I resigned myself to was the reality before me every day, and every moment of every day. I am so glad that book was left there. It's a book and what a blessing to have books to read, to engage our minds, to learn from, even to entertain us with stories. It was left there by my daughter. One of my daughters. One of my children. The reasons I am even called Mama, Mommy, Mom, and now Ma (an addition due to our Little House obsession lately). Need I go on?
I will...We have counter tops to lay things on, and a lovely and functional kitchen that houses those counter tops, in a warm, character-laden (read: old and imperfect, but the way we love it) house in a loving and lively community within a country where we are free to home school and live out our faith openly and passionately.
Proverbs 14:4 "Where no oxen are, the manger is clean, But much revenue comes by the strength of the ox."
My oxen, right now, are my offspring. Let's face it, children aren't typically clean. Nor are their mangers or mine for that matter. Especially when they come in a herd of 8. I haven't studied the original Hebrew text for the word "revenue" just yet, but I would suggest that my payment comes in blessings through my children. And I use the term blessings loosely, only because I'm not just referring to those rosy moments when your, OK my, 2 year old sings Bible songs enthusiastically or an older daughter writes loving notes of encouragement for this Mama. Those are the obvious warm fuzzies of motherhood.
It is also the tough times - disrespectful words, poop blow-outs, broken washers, throwing fits, and spilled milk (cliche, but let's face it, IT IS REALITY) - that represent blessings. Disguised as trials, but turned to blessings as our Creator uses those moments to mold us into vessels for His own glory. After 100 cups of spilled milk, I can now usually just grimace, address the foolishness or childishness represented, and calmly clean it up. It took 100 cups to get there. Trust me.
So it is that these oxen (I mean children) bring revenue (rather blessings) in stinky mangers (difficult Mom moments and messy homes). And for now, I will cling to that truth and not forget the great gift that is right here in front of me. Or all around me.
photo credit: Photo Pin
There's the "take care of yourself Mama so you can be ready for what comes tomorrow" half of me that says just go to bed. Before it is REALLY late. Then there's the other half of me sitting here right now that just wants to get my thoughts on paper. Er, in typing. On the computer screen. Whatever it is we do these days to "write." If my unwritten thoughts from a day were interesting at all, and if those words could be miraculously organized into neat sentences and paragraphs and even chapters...I could probably write several books. They might not be published or even sold, but they'd be books.
And then there's that reminder, oh so gentle and subtle, of why those books are unwritten. And might always be. Never mind that I can't keep the living room floor, the steps, or my kitchen counters free of this life that is happening. I seemed to have overlooked all of that surrounding me.
As I finished up finding a home for the few groceries we picked up 2 hours ago, there was one misplaced item I didn't miss. A book. Left upside down, open to the page where its reader had stopped, lying on the tiny counter next to my stove that is reserved for drinking cups and recyclable containers during the day and nothing after dinner, definitely NOT where that book belongs. My first thought was along the lines of "she is always leaving her books everywhere and never where they should be."
For some reason, tonight that was a fleeting thought and what I resigned myself to was the reality before me every day, and every moment of every day. I am so glad that book was left there. It's a book and what a blessing to have books to read, to engage our minds, to learn from, even to entertain us with stories. It was left there by my daughter. One of my daughters. One of my children. The reasons I am even called Mama, Mommy, Mom, and now Ma (an addition due to our Little House obsession lately). Need I go on?
I will...We have counter tops to lay things on, and a lovely and functional kitchen that houses those counter tops, in a warm, character-laden (read: old and imperfect, but the way we love it) house in a loving and lively community within a country where we are free to home school and live out our faith openly and passionately.
Proverbs 14:4 "Where no oxen are, the manger is clean, But much revenue comes by the strength of the ox."
It is also the tough times - disrespectful words, poop blow-outs, broken washers, throwing fits, and spilled milk (cliche, but let's face it, IT IS REALITY) - that represent blessings. Disguised as trials, but turned to blessings as our Creator uses those moments to mold us into vessels for His own glory. After 100 cups of spilled milk, I can now usually just grimace, address the foolishness or childishness represented, and calmly clean it up. It took 100 cups to get there. Trust me.
So it is that these oxen (I mean children) bring revenue (rather blessings) in stinky mangers (difficult Mom moments and messy homes). And for now, I will cling to that truth and not forget the great gift that is right here in front of me. Or all around me.
photo credit: Photo Pin
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