It's Friday afternoon, and I can recall all to vividly the excitement that I once felt when the bell rang signaling school's dismissal for the weekend because it surfaces again when my husband arrives home from work on Friday evenings. Ah. Reprieve. Relief, even if just for a moment.
I am a full-time mother. And although I have chosen to not share my daily workload with a given career, this is not an indication of my vocation; it is an assessment of my heart. I am, on a daily basis, mothering, (whether in deed or in thought) at all times. It is a bittersweet task at times, but my privilege, nonetheless, and one that I ought remember, lest I permit these precious years to pass unvalued. Somehow, these precious lives were entrusted to my care, their hearts given to my watch, their journey's commencement placed carefully in the middle of my own.
Yet on days like today, when the house is a wreck, when each child is requiring me at the same time, and when the day is passing quickly with my "to do" list still undone, it is difficult to remember the treasure that they really are. I long for some space, some time, some distance just to regroup, to find my strength and love for this life-long commitment that I have made by choice, and try again. How is that I (with 30 years of life experience and reason to guide me) can become so frustrated with two little ones who have neither? Oh, what secrets of my own wayward heart this daily job unveils. Oh, that I would grasp the lessons still unlearned in my own life as I strive to teach my children. And oh, that despite the daily demands of life, I would constantly see my children as the gift and reward from God that they truly are, for they are a beautiful addition to my life.
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