I get left in the dust as he charges ahead.
I gear myself up for labor. The birthing of another school year, another round of seasons and growing kids.
I stay home with them all day every day and I wage a war to keep my focus on the Lord, and on these kids.
Busyness beckons and I say no. I want to be here. This home that God has given us for this space of time. Here, as much as possible.
So on Saturday when the urge to escape to the zoo, or the mall, or OMSI yells, when the mouth of mundane yawns and the tonsils of boredom wiggle, I pray.
Not audibly, just a soul yearning upward, as only a soul that has just played hide and seek, Uno, Skippo, and puzzles in quick succession, can do.
I get up and sit at the piano. Fingers move over keys I once knew intimately, mind reaches backward to remember songs I once sang. I start to play. There are some songs that I knew well, and they assert themselves. And I remember that there is joy in creating music. There is joy in creating.
Posy wriggled onto my lap and sat content. And then she did it.
She took her hands and placed them on top of mine. Her little voice blended, followed my pitch.
Again, and again, I'm reminded, they will do what I do. They feel life by putting their hands on top of mine.
There are enough busy people in the world.
The world does not need me or mine to boost it's numbers.
We mamas and daddies are doing something so much more than entertaining.
We are creating.
"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." Galatians 6:9
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