Deeper Life

Being a Mom Like chirping birds announcing morn' little feet arouse the dawn.  Clanging toys and banging doors, pirates, mermaids and messy floors.  Little voices and owie toes, little sobs crying little woes.  When the day waves its goodbye, and slumber greets the heavy eye  What would I have rather done, than nurture the soul of a little one?

Tears, gut-wrenching pain, stinging rain, hurting, bottling, hurtling, tossing, cheek-burning, soul-churning, silent, wailing, dark, flailing, pain. The precipice, chasm of deep, insanity, sleep. Permanent escape. Hurling through space, tethered to... Laughter, gut-splitting pain, cleansing rain, healing, washing, hurtling, tossing, cheek-burning, soul-churning, silent, wailing, bright, flailing, laughter.

Friday was a red day.  From the moment my eyelids lifted I sensed it coming - and the day did not disappoint. Company was coming, the kids were all energy and I was in an irritable, discouraged, self-pitying mood.  The children each took their turns waving their red flag in true matadorian style. I am not an angry person. True rage is probably the sin I struggle with least. Not this day, though. The house needed to be cleaned. Rounding up the kids to help was like herding a bunch of feral cats. All afternoon I fought off tears; from guilt, frustration and the pain of biting my venomous tongue lest the awful words pooling there leak through my clenched teeth.  Company was coming and I wanted to take the time for more than surface cleaning. Murphey's Law: if I sweep it under the rug, or stuff it in a closet, or fail to sweep under the cushions, or throw it all in a back room,  that is where the company will go and all that I try to hide will be revealed. So the stre...

Oswald Chambers Challenged me today to take no thought for my life; what I will eat or drink, or what I will wear. It is easy to think that God doesn't understand, or that my cares are not really concerns or worries . Am I truly to take no thought at all? How literally should I take this instruction: Take no thought for your life... Not too literally, I should think. I have to take some thought. I have discovered poor planning costs me more money, time and stress. Responsibility means considering in advance what I am feeding my family. I do not think this is what is meant. Jesus, when he was preparing for the last supper, instructed his disciples where and how to find the room and the meal they were to share. Once again I turn to my children to learn these lessons. It is said that unless we have the faith of a child we cannot enter the Kingdom of God. So I watch them, and they rarely give much advanced thought to what the next meal is going to be. Only when their little tummies a...

One of the happenings in our family that gives me cause to pause and wonder about the rules we create for society is how often the children cry foul when it comes to food distribution. We have a 17 year-old male in our family, followed by five females aged 15, 9, 8, and 7 yr old twins. Then a 6 yr old boy and 5 year old girl. It is not possible to determine how much each of these children eat based on their gender or ages. It is not even possible to determine based on their likes and dislikes. Yet, Regardless of whatever factors might come into play, the younger children insist that they all be given equal portions of everything served or it's not "fair". There is, however, one factor that matters, and that is whether or not I am the one serving the food. This is intriguing to me... If I am doling the portions out it better all be the same portions, and they all develop an eagle eye for fairness. If I place the food on the table and they choose what the portions are there...

The rallying cry goes forth from the kitchen: "Brownies!" Like a swarm of ants returning to their nest, little ones scurry to the table and find their place among the other wide eyes and salivating tongues. One is particularly energetic; he has been making regular journey's to worship at the brownie pan since the night before. His hopes finally realized, he intensely tracks knife to plate waiting for the turn to be his. At last, one chocolaty-brown-fudge-filled rectangle of pleasure is delivered to the round altar before him, "Hey! She got more than me!" Knife returns. Sliver of brownie transfers from his plate to "hers". Tears well up in light of the horror before him, "You're right. She does. " The protest storm gathers strength as accusations of unfairness threaten to cool the warm motherly winds. I reason my way through his complaints, as best as I can reason with a six year-old brownie worshiper. "I try my best to be equal. L...