The day seems to march past and I run scurrying, trying to catch up, to accomplish my list of tasks. Somehow, always running a little behind. If only I could. If I were better. I should. So many things to hang over my head to remind me of what I am not doing well.
As a mom, I find that there is never enough of me. Someone is hungry, someone needs help with homework, someone wants to play, someone is sad. My house looks like a hurricane blew through it, my husband is going to be home any minute, dinner is half made on the counter, and the baby sobs at my feet, while her siblings have a scream fest upstairs. If I only knew that labor would be a welcomed respite to the daily living with small people who think I am the source of everything in their lives.
These are the moments that everything gets tight, I can feel my lack throbbing through me, and all I want to do is run screaming for the hills. I long desperately to do life well and somehow I'm failing before I have even begun. It's these moments that I turn up the stereo, find some loud worship music and call out to the King of all Kings to come and rescue me. I pick the baby up and we twirl around the laundry piles, leap the backpacks on the floor, laugh when the big kids come and join, until we are a heap of exhaustion and rest. I am not enough, but there is one who is greater, who is swift to come when I call on him. He restores, brings peace, and gives me the grace to make it through. I cannot accomplish all I want to on my own. I am desperate to live a life of joy and rest. Sometimes it requires a power boost.
Dance wild with your children, race around the house, fall on the floor and belly laugh. Allow the great rescuer to come and save you.
It is the best cure to the struggle of living.