The little one woke up early, getting grumpy quickly.
A grocery run had to be made, which meant a car ride for a quick nap.
We zoomed around the store, dodging people and waiting for countless others who figured standing in the middle of isles was best.
He slipped and fell in the parking lot, scuffing knees and bringing tears.
Fought and fought to get back in the carseat, yelled and threw toys on the way home.
We found activities for the rest of the morning, me desperately trying to keep him busy and out of trouble.
Lunchtime came and I spun in circles trying to spread peanut butter and not step on him attached to my leg. The messy lunch, messy cleanup, little one who just wanted to help…
But it was a screamfest, so I spent an hour putting him down instead of getting ready for our guest that evening.
My to-do list was long and dinner needed to be prepped. The house was a mess; Mondays are my cleaning days.
When he finally went down I snuck out and looked at the clock — 1:00pm. And he’d be up soon enough and then we’d have company at 4:00. I held my head on the counter and prayed. Somehow, Lord, please help me be efficient even though I’m spinning in circles. Please, Lord, help me finish the things that are necessary and let go of whatever else.
I sat down to make the stuffed shells. Well, actually not; I stood at the kitchen table and an hour later wished I’d sat. What I thought would be an easy process ended up taking much, much longer than I’d anticipated. It was frustrating and I was interrupted — even with the little one asleep.
My legs, feet, back, everything hurt. The business work and other tasks I’d planned to get done got moved to the next day on my calendar.
Quickly I scrubbed the toilet and cleaned the sink; dusted, shook out the rugs, swept the floor.
Levi got up, had a snack, Josh came home, and our guest arrived. It was a nice visit with good conversation and plenty of baby kicks. Sitting back on the couch felt lovely.
After dinner and a quick bath for Levi, Josh pushed me into the bedroom and said I wasn’t to come out for 30 minutes. I agreed, relieved.
I fell down on the bed and opened my Bible:
“The Lord is my light and my salvation;
Whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the strength of my life;
Of whom shall I be afraid?”
Psalm 27:1 (emphasis mine)
The Lord is the strength of my life. How true that is, and how it took on a deeper meaning as I lay there exhausted.
I remembered my prayers earlier, tired and not sure if things were going to get done. I thought of all my days of motherhood, the journey that depletes physically and mentally and emotionally. But the Lord gives strength.
He gives strength when we can’t go any further, when we’re at our limit and don’t see how we can take any more.
It’s supernatural, it really is. We ask and He gives; He gives abundantly, one step at a time, and we keep going. He gives us rest, sometimes when we least expect it — like Josh sending me to the bedroom for some alone time. And He refreshes and restores even in the exhaustion.
He is good, friends!