Lately my health feels like its sort of crumbling. I’m reminded of the brownies we baked for Dusty’s birthday over the weekend. They were double chocolate, brown and gooey, with chocolate chips sprinkled throughout. I followed each and every instruction the very way it was meant to be carried out, but they continued to crumble every time I managed to scoop them out of the glass pan. End of the world? No! Our toddler was pleased. But not what I imagined.
Whenever I’m sick for too long, symptoms that result in feeling utterly icky, essentially result in feeling unlike myself. And feeling unlike myself makes it so hard to do the things I enjoy: reading, writing, baking, going outside, working out, spending time with people. Anything other than laying on the couch, please.
I’ve clung to Psalm 142.
Listen to my cry,
for I am very weak.
Free me from (this) prison,
So that I can praise your name.
Last weekend I went away on a MOPS leadership retreat. We spent a few days smack dap on the edge of the lake. The PNW is something else, something I take for granted way too often. I sat outside on the wood deck and faded patio furniture with my bible in hand (a very untouched bible lately, might I add) and quickly jotted down what my eyes witnessed.
The water is still. Steam glides and dances across the surface. Large evergreen trees reflect their image on the water. Birds chip in the distance, high up in the branches. Sun glimmers behind multiple shades of green. The air is perfectly crisp, cold, but refreshing. The dock sits empty, quiet.
I peeked open my bible study on Ezra. The Israelites are returning to the promised land and begin rebuilding the temple, starting with the alter.
Ezra 3 says “even though they feared” because of the surrounding communities, they offered burnt offerings to the Lord. They worshipped him anyways.
I chuckle at how you speak to me, Lord.
To praise him.
Enough though.
Even though I am tired, and sick, and crumbling. Even though I’m out of time in the morning or simply out of energy to do so.
So I cling to the little moments. To praise him for the ordinary ones. The ones that pass too quickly and don’t seem too important at the time. Moments I know I’ll want to go back in time to, for the sake of simplicity, and baby soft hands, and eyes that gaze into mine with pure wonder, and a little voice that whispers “I love you mama”.
I jot those little moments down, mostly small, and sometimes seemingly unimportant from the outside, so I can remember the good parts, in the middle of crumbling. Because I’m not called to praise his name when everything is perfectly in order, but even though it’s not.
//
An Ordinary Moment In Time
I don’t know what is it, but she was perfectly adorable tonight. I forgot to brush the one too many jellybeans off her 12 tiny teeth, so we left our cozy rocking and I carried her the short walk down the hallway into the bathroom. I plopped her on the edge of the empty counter, snug in her lavender decorated sleep sack, wrapped in her mauve blanket. Her big brown eyes were slightly glossy and they gazed into mine, begging for sleep. Her mouth hung open, too tired to fight for an ounce of independence, and she allowed to me work away with strawberry paste. Her checks were round and plump and the perfect shade of summer sun. Kissable. I shut the water off, snuggled her up, and her head rest on my right shoulder. I laid her on a fresh white sheet, surrounded by baby dolls, and kissed the top of her brown curls. “Mamas come back” she whispered. “I love you sweet girl.” I replied quietly. And the knob turned slowly behind me.
//
Kendra
This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Moment in Time".
Thank you for sharing your current hard. Great images throughout!
Big fan of MOPS & Psalm 142, thanks for sharing!