My heart races and I am frozen, seeing all this. Where do I start? How do I start?
I take a deep breath, close my eyes and pray for peace. I pray that I relax, that I know that what needs to get done will get done. Then I open my eyes.
And I understand that the laundry will get put away - by me or by the first person to grow annoyed at fishing shirts/socks/towels out of a basket. The coffee on the school table is surrounded by the remains of the days work - and it's a lot of remains because a lot was accomplished. The dry towels and dirt/leaves on the floor are a reminder of the insane amount of fun the kids had finally being able to play in snow (after three years of no snow. Three.). The hot chocolate is the mess left from Violet making it for Sarah and herself without any help at all. They overdosed on marshmallows and messed around with candy canes, seeing how long it would take them to melt. The Legos are John's pride and joy. Oh, the hours he spends building and creating. Just now there is a sushi bar, complete with a conveyor belt, plates, moving door, and tables, he built from the description I gave a week ago. The clothing and toys to be wrapped and donated are the kids learning to bless others.
When I take a minute, when I take a breath and just be still . . . I can see this. Are there things in here that I do need to take care of? Absolutely. I will have a dry towel in the morning. But I must remember to stop, just stop, and look around. What am I doing here? Why are we here?
I'm being reminded, again and again, that I need to be still in order to hear what is being said to me. Being still is not a strong point in my personality. Yet every time I remember to stop and be still, to listen...well, I hear. And I'm reassured that this is right. The mess, the loudness, the crazy. This is us. This is how we learn and live.
And it is good.