Deep Breath

I had planned on complaining today. I had a hectic morning. My house is in shambles, my kids didn’t want to get out of bed (not that I can blame them- I didn’t want to get out of bed either). Ashton spent 30 minutes sitting in front of our gas heater instead of getting dressed. Atleigh screamed at me for pacis, apples, juice cup (or, as she says it, shewscup). And in the midst of this, I was packing lunch, signing homework papers, rushing out to warm up the car, finding shoes and coats and blankies.

I spent the 10 minute drive to the school compiling a list of the things I hate the most about today: the cold, the stalling kids, my itchy left eye, the everyday drudgery of my life.

Then my sister texted me about a song she had been listening to, one we had discussed a few nights ago. I had the CD in my car, so I turned it to track 13. After repeating it three or four times, I felt a little better. I little like a martyr, suffering for the sake of a higher calling, but better.

When I got home, I took the girls' coats from them, threw some waffles in the toaster for breakfast, fed the kitten, all with a sense of patient disappointment in my fate. Suffering for a cause.

Then I opened my fridge, and saw the gallon juice jug my 7 year old son had wrestled onto the top shelf all by himself. Don’t ask me what it was about a gallon of juice that turned my attitude around. But it made me stop rolling my eyes and actually use them to look around me.

I saw the dollhouse my girls have been “cleaning” with baby wipes, pretending to be little grown-ups.

I saw the pictures that Jeremy and Chloe colored of each other: Chloe’s of Daddy picking flowers (for her), and Jeremy’s of Chloe dressed as a Princess, riding a horse to a faraway castle.

I saw all the groceries I just bought yesterday, the ones that Ashton helped me put away, so proud to be useful.

I heard Atleigh tell me “Thank you” so sweetly when I gave her her breakfast.

I saw all of Ashton’s little Star Wars figures perfectly arranged in a battle scene, good clearly aligned against evil.

I saw Jeremy’s three guitars scattered here and there, tokens of the wonderful, tender-hearted psalmist I married. And I remembered that one of those guitars was a gift from the mother of Jeremy’s best friend, and one he would give anything to be able to give back to that friend.

And I took a deep breath- another gift I’ve been given.