I am not what I should be.
I have not been what I want to be.
I murmur and complain.
I tear down and I berate.
I try to muster up energy.
Try to get through the day.
Just try to make it ’til bedtime.
But this is not how I’ve been called to live.
This is not how I give life.
I plead with Him.
For Him to speak love through my lips.
Lift UP in my correction.
Bring sweetness in our togetherness.
Bring joy in our daily living of life.
For me to capture all the moments I feel slipping.
Slipping through these hands . . . these memories.
The little one singing “Jesus Loves Me” and
“The Rain in Spain.”
My firstborn, so excited about her approaching birthday that she skips through the produce aisle, much to my frustration.
The sand in the bottom of the tub and all over the kitchen floor.
All the pink and the love of cold bedsheets and stuffed animals.
The way they want to show me EVERYTHING.
What a gift that they would run to show me?
And how often I don’t even look, but still murmur,
“Mmhmm . . . that’s great.”
Sometimes, the hardest, most tiring of days, are the days I just wish I could go and live all over.
Because it’s usually on those days
that I’ve missed it.
Focused on what doesn’t matter,
or what interests
or simply just focused on
And I just wish I could press “rewind.”
And yes, my muscles are sore.
But I wish I’d pushed a few more swings.
And yes, my brain is tired,
but I wish I’d read more than one book.
And yes, the room is clean,
but I soiled her sweet heart in between all my griping and hurrying.
Renew my heart.
Pour the oil of gladness in this ungrateful mama’s heart.
That I may fill up the hearts of these little ones.
Firefly turns four this weekend.
I’m not ready for this.
I want to live this day over.
His mercies are new every morning.