I silently pray to see them as He sees them.
My time "alone" mingles with directives, explaining yet again the seven o'clock "rule." Mommy's rule. And with their clock in hand, two of the three make their appearance the instant six leaves the scene. The day officially begins.
Bandaids. Crafts. Whining. Crumbs. Spills. Frustration. Laundry. Sheets. Dishes. Sippy cups. Laughing. Crying. Dimpled hands. Growing. Groceries. Laundry. Bugs. Frogs. Discipline. Chores. Training. Laundry. Misunderstandings. Irrationalities. Smiles. Words. Questions. Snacks. Diapers. And more laundry.
All of it mixed together in this big pot we call a day. Joy touching irritation. Laughter brushing against tears. One moment it seems controllable. The next, a pile of mush. I can speak with such tenderness, then the very next second overreact with such immaturity.
I pray to see as He sees.
They are His, not mine. He designed them. And like me, they are in process--in search of Truth and fulfillment and reality. In the midst of the seeming mushy mundane, I am called to ever-point them to the One for whom they are looking. In love. By example. Through Him.
His grace will suffice.