- The baby’s whines, punctuated with crying, and interspersed with babbles and weary giggles, fill the vehicle as the sun sets in the distance, a pink, translucent hue, so peaceful that it almost overshadows the cranky baby, and even helps me ignore the repeated kicks into the back of my seat. While the baby tries to put into words the sheer exhaustion she feels, the three year old asks a gauntlet of questions, strung along sporadically to prevent her from being sucked into her own looming nap. “What is this?” she asks, pointing at random buttons. “How much further?” she questions with a sigh. As the sky changes from pink to gray, and then finally to black, the baby starts to cry in earnest, giving wakefulness her last fight as the full moon shines the way back home. The baby falls in and out of slumber, while her big sister’s endless repertoire of inquiries continues, and often loudly, pulling little sis out of her sleep before it even begins. As the hazy moon rises higher in the night sky, the babe finally sleeps, and even though the continuous questions proceed, a peace settles over the vehicle amidst the hum of rubber on blacktop.
- It’s in the moments of silence that you can reflect on the full day, remembering all the laughs and excited smiles. It’s in the beautiful moving picture show of your mind that you can fully appreciate the memories made, and sigh internally with contentment over it all. The middle is always the good part it seems. The beginning and the end, not so much. After a full day away from home and the comforts that reside there, small children crash onto the runaway leading back to that blessed oasis. Naps are typically interrupted, meals forgone, and sugar highs come to an end. In those moments of collapse you’re reminded of the start, rocky in its own sense, and how you almost just said, “forget about it.” The preparation that goes along with a day out can be exhausting. Gathering, packing, planning the details. All things meant to make it a little easier, somehow cause their own stress. But the actual getting out the door is the worst part. All perfectly laid plans, all the preparations and perfectly packed goods can collapse in an instant. The unforeseen will make itself known, moods will crumple, threatening tempers to flair. Knowing it will likely be this way will make you not want to put yourself through it. Too many activities just fill the precious time with rushed attitudes and cranky cries, making it seem far easier to hole up in your bunker for the next five years or so.
- But you do it anyway. You do it for them, for those tiny smiling faces that say, “Can we go mom? Please?” You try to remember, Didn’t mom do that too? I’m certain she did. You do it for them, but it’s for you too, because nothing seems to compare to that joy you feel when the musical laughter fills the air like the soundtrack to your busy, chaotic, yet idyllic life. I delight in the little children. I’m reminded that Abba Father delights in me, despite my endless questions, my weary cries, and my inability to rest when I most need it. He loves me despite the craziness and how much work I can be. He loves watching me love those little children, as He sees His best in me at those times. I am reminded that though it’s good to do the extra for them, even when I just want to be still, that if it becomes movement that brings bitterness rather than joy, then it is pointless. The important things are not how many places you can go, activities you can complete, or crafts you can design. All the pictures of happy memories are for naught if the smiles are forced. All they really need is love and time. Time to be loved and to feel my love. In the end today, as the moon leads the way home with my two little hearts riding behind me, I am content with our pursual of time together. It is sometimes time going here and there, chaotic and full, but other times it is simply reading books on a blanket on the floor. And that is good. Any time with my loves is not wasted or ill spent.
That is all 🙂