The Thrash for Joy
I was stashing dinner’s smudged remains in the dish washer at ten o’clock last night when I heard the moan. Rob had taken our wilting baby to the E.R. for a round of I.V. fluids in hopes of giving her dehydrated body a lift. I had stayed behind to tuck the other four into bed with prayers for health and wholeness. The whirr of the dish washer had sparked a near-giddy hope for a long-overdue shower to rinse off the stench that accompanies twenty-four hours of puke-patrol.I heard my husband’s heavy footsteps on the ceiling, as one floor above he stumbled from his lonely post in our shared bed to comfort our screaming toddler. I listened to her cries, “Mommy! Mommy!” and wondered why the Lord hadn’t made it possible for mothers to be in two places at once. A cough and gag drew my mind back to the patient (and the plastic bucket) at hand, and I fought the gory fight. You are here, Lord. I know you are. Your plans for us are good. You are my strength. You never sleep. . . . I struggled to name His attributes and grasped desperately for verses that would counter my mind’s habitual backslide into grumbling.
At 2 A.M. I realized that the unfamiliar dark of the guest room might skew my perceptions of morning. With three school-goers in need of a wake-up call, I couldn’t bank on the sunrise to pull me from sleep. (That is, if my thrashing son’s body finally succumbed to slumber and my own limbs actually followed suit). So I slid out from under the covers and fumbled along the bedside table that housed a small alarm clock. I poked haphazardly at all the buttons until I pushed one that would assure my 6 A.M. siren. Oh, Lord, I begged, renew my strength in the morning. My fingers slid over the clock’s plastic surface, blocking the neon green numbers that recorded the dragging time. Over my son’s snarled breaths, I heard a plink. A small coin toppled from the alarm clock’s base and landed near my hand. Surprised, my fingers groped for the smooth gift.
Tears slipped from my tired eyes as I clasped the unexpected penny in my palm. A gift from the One who holds time in His hands. A reminder from the One who has numbered my days. The bed above me squeaked again as Rob headed back to our crying toddler’s room. For some reason, I thought about Hannah’s perfect explanation of our mysterious washing machine pennies.
“Why would God leave pennies in the washing machine?” Lizzy had wondered aloud as she helped me fold the mountain of laundry before bed.
“Because He can,” Hannah had answered matter-of-factly. “He’s so BIG, He can do ANYTHING.”
I wiped the sweat from my young son’s brow with one hand and clung to the copper love note with the other. Thank you, God, for being SO BIG that you are involved in the smallest of details. The door of my heart slid open a crack and my new friend, joy, quietly returned.
The Overflow: Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. I Peter 5:7
I’ve thought of you so much this week as I’ve emptied buckets and switched laundry. I, too, pray a loaves and fishes prayer over sleep at night.. think that’s the biggest miracle of all- that a mom can keep going on mere ounces of rest. Can’t wait to see you at a park and laugh at the MEMORY of our “brown.” -Alicia
What a nasty thing to be dealing with! At least my kids had the grace to get bad colds instead of the puking flu. Usually they just sleep more. I will be lifting up your sweet family in prayer tonight, for strength for you and Rob especially. There have been many nights when my prayer has been a plea to make this night of short sleep enough for the next day. Thanks for the encouragement you have been to me the last few weeks. I needed to be reminded how God is meeting me in my day-to-day life, and to remember how nice it is to laugh with a friend at my crazy life!