I wrote this sometime last summer. After a recent reminder that I was still holding on to this unpublished piece, I thought I’d post it here.
Her day was flat-out crazy. The madness had started early, as early as midnight actually, when the baby refused to sleep for more than an hour at a time… according to the interpretation of her sleep-befuddled brain. Thus she had awoken grumpy and selfish, despairing how to pack her husband’s lunch, and
almost moping as she sat (sat!) at the table, forcing her husband grab the milk and cereal while all she could think about was heading back to bed. Oh such a selfish little wife! She even refused the coffee he offered. Coffee. That she never refused. Ever.
Well. At least she got to “start over” again, by first apologizing to her husband who graciously forgave as he kissed her goodbye and left for a long day of work (and she was the one to be pitied?!). Then she crashed back into bed to catch a few desperate winks before…
…the baby woke her again, and the rest of the day’s duties pressed down on her, leading her to cancel the afternoon Bible study with a friend (cue extra guilt download). Her morning’s prayer walk helped a lot, as did a few neighborly conversations. And the baby played happily for awhile. But there was bread to bake, granola to make, a horror-floor to be washed. And the baby grabbed the trash can and opened forbidden cupboard doors and found the phone charger and cried over nothing. And the mom was already weary and bit shaky from lack of both body and soul nourishment. She was ready just to sit. Sit.
So she sat and somewhat reluctantly opened her Bible to John 6. She read how a little boy sacrificed his small lunch to feed a crowd, and she was ashamed how she’d forced her husband to serve her that morning. She read how Philip’s logic was outmatched by Jesus’ miracle, and she was glad that Jesus could do the same for her logically ill-fated day. She read that He wanted the people to sit, to rest, while He provided, and she was thankful to rest in her porch chair and allow Him to feed her from His Word. She read how that later Jesus calmed a storm once the disciples let him into the boat — He came without them asking — and she knew that if she only allowed Jesus into her boat that her emotional storm would dissipate.
It did. She was calmed. Blessed. Refreshed. She knew that the rest of her day would still not be perfect and that she was still apt to be selfish somewhere along the way and that the floor was still a horror and the baby would likely try her last shred of patience, but it was okay. And (a miracle!) Jesus had taken those few minutes of forced “devotion” that she’d reluctantly given Him, and He had blessed them far above her logic could have predicted.
The baby cried, but the mom smiled as she rose to fetch her. It was still a crazy day, lived by an oh-so-human mom. No matter. The Savior who had once satisfied crowds, smashed logic, and settled storms was still doing all the same things. For her. Today.