Ps 119:5
TUESDAY
It snowed this week, so Henry shoveled the walkway before Daddy got home.
At first he was pretty enthusiastic. What a happy helper!
But his excitement about the snow was shortlived.
Regarding the lack of mittens: I'm not a negligent mama. I actually wanted my 11-month-old to learn what snow feels like. He learned. Then we went back inside.
WEDNESDAY
Nothing is sure. One morning, as you're trying to rush out the door to make it work on time, your little boy could be happily munching his pears for breakfast, and then - without warning - he could be choking, gagging, coughing, mucous and tears smearing his red fear-filled face. You whisk him from the high chair to the floor, slapping his back and sweeping his mouth with a finger, waiting for the overfull mouth to be empty, for the windpipe to be clear, for your little boy to be alright again.
For all you know, it could be the end.
Or the Lord could give you back your boy. For another day. Another week. Another 50 years.
Our son was spared this morning. Pete swept the slimy chunks of pear out of his throat and he finally stopped coughing and gave a weak smile. He's alright. He's alright. Alright for now. Alright this time.
Life isn't sure. It isn't ours to claim. Or ours to promise. It's given one day - one moment - at a time. And just when I think my little boy's old enough that I can stop worrying about some nagging mama-fear, he's old enough for me to start worrying about another one. Dangers never go away. But fear can go away when we recognize that the breakfast pears and the lead paint and the winter-slick highways are all in the hands of Someone who will never go away and who breathes life into our little frames one breath at a time.
That's all that is sure. And it's far more than enough.
SUNDAY
Winter comes. Roofs leak. Pipes freeze. Water pools on ceiling tiles and laundry room floors. Seeping into cracks in the walls, cracks in the worried mind. Finding the tiniest spaces and opening them up wide. Warping, swelling, staining. This is the season of distortion. The season of doubt.
How will we manage? How will we afford? What will snap next?
Prayer seems pointless when troubles pile up like wet rags. Voices of defeat echo. Matter-of-fact. Confident. "[All hope is lost.] Why bother the Teacher any more?" There can be no fix for this.
And yet... And yet "ignoring what they said, Jesus [says], 'Don't be afraid; just believe.'"
When hope seems lost - when hope is lost - even then, doubt can evaporate. Fear can melt. The Teacher ignores cynicism and fatalism, laughs in the face of hopelessness. He's confident too. And with better reason. "Why all this commotion and wailing?" He asks. "Don't be afraid. Don't assume. Don't throw in the leaky-pipe-water-soaked towel just yet. It's not the end. It's a new beginning. Just believe."
And you know that whatever happens next is a miracle.
References from Mark 5:35-43
Grateful this week for:
homemade vegetable lentil chicken soup (for my baby, not for me... sadly)
coats
sweaters
socks
mittens
scarves
boots
hats
sandwiches with my sister-in-law
teepee chases
slow cooker
a roof, even a leaky one
chocolate cake
folding laundry
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