My husband and I used to sleep with our phones next to our beds, but wouldn’t you know it— they would keep us up until the wee hours of the night and wake us with endless reminders of todo’s for the day. Wisely, we now liberate ourselves of all electronic devices, leaving them in our downstairs kitchen overnight.
Instead of needless notifications and nagging desires to check our phones (all rooted in fear of missing out, or FOMO), we now awake to God’s gift of another sunrise.
The sunlight begins to glow warmly, cascading across each pine tree outside my bedroom window. Snow covers the ground in a shimmery blanket of white. Shining, glistening at the onset of the dawn. It’s my God-created alarm clock, which usually goes off daily around 5:45 a.m.
I roll out of bed, sleepy-eyed, and stumble to the bathroom as a deep yawn escapes me. I glance in the mirror to see my hair askew, going every which way. I throw it up into a messy bun. I answer the call of my onthe-verge-of-exploding bladder then head downstairs, wrapped in my favorite blanket.
I spend some cherished time in prayer and reading my Bible. Then, like clockwork, I hear the little pitter-patter of feet walking sweetly on the floor above my head. It’s now 6:15 a.m. and the day is in full swing.
My ten-year-old gallops down the stairs, excited to start a new day, readily claiming the title that she was the first one awake ... again. My seven-year-old is still fast asleep, or at least pretending to be. Glued to her bed, she clutches her covers in full-fledged denial that she must get up today. No matter how much shaking and prodding I do, she remains immovable.
My fourteen-year-old spent too much time reading last night, engrossed in an age-appropriate novel where undoubtedly a female heroine singlehandedly saved the world, discovered her unique superpowers while simultaneously rescuing her one true love through her own acts of bravery. Needless to say, she too is struggling to venture from her warm, cozy covers, while my twelve-year-old welcomes the day with enthusiasm.
I make my way to the kitchen and make the four lunches needed for their mid-day school survival. I grab four cereal bowls, which are on a shelf that is almost too high for my 5’10” self to reach. Grab the Honey Nut Cheerios from the pantry, which triggers my daughter to ask me the question she so often does: “Mom, aren’t those going to kill us?”
Ever since a family member told us that Cheerios have arsenic in them, my daughter has a fear of eating them. I calm her fears and assure her that she doesn’t eat enough Cheerios for them to cause serious damage. Seems like a good enough answer for her as she eats them by the spoonful. The others wander to the kitchen, making waffles with peanut butter and scrambled eggs.
We need to be out the door by seven o’clock in order to get my high schooler to class and
drop the other three off at their school.
“It’s time to go!” I yell throughout the house. “Where’s your shoes? Why don’t you have shoes
on?” I ask my littlest with urgency. She never seems to remember to put shoes and socks on, no matter how many times I remind her.
Finally, we race our way out the garage door and to the car. No matter how early we wake
up, those last ten minutes before we have to leave feel like a mad-dash to the finish line.
“Where’s your backpack?” I say as I glance to the backseat while pulling out of the driveway. I jerk the car to a halt as a child runs inside to grab the one thing she actually needs to succeed at school. And now we are off.
“Did everyone brush their teeth?” I ask, partially knowing the answer. I turn to face them for a brief moment and see the cutest smiles of guilt gracing their beautiful faces, which means no, they didn’t brush their teeth.
At this point we begin a discussion on how brushing their teeth last night doesn’t mean they can forgo brushing them in the morning and how no one at school wants to smell their morning breath.
I pass out gum and they pop it in their mouths like candy. I drop them off at school with hugs, kisses encouragement, and an assurance that God is with them today. He will use them for His glory.
I arrive home around 8:20 a.m. The kitchen needs to be cleaned and dishes put in the dishwasher. There’s an eternal load of laundry in the dryer—one that I keep endlessly drying because I don’t want to fold it.
I walk upstairs to survey the girls' bedrooms. A trail of Minnie Mouse underwear lines the floor,
reminding me of the little ones I’m honored to mother. How can one child use so much underwear in a day? Part of me doesn’t want to know the answer to that.
I quickly declutter the home and make my way to my laptop. It’s almost 9 a.m. now and my day is in full swing. I put on my Spotify writing music and, depending on what day of the week it is, I either open up our church project management site or I open up my laptop to write a bit for the day.
Today is a work-from-home day so as I open my laptop, I see the list of to-do’s needing my attention. I open my mind to the mental spreadsheet resting in my back-shelf consciousness and bring it to the forefront. I start to move. As I work, I get in a rhythm for the day, fully embracing the pace and placement of the week.
I turn off all distractions and just lean in. Focused. Determined. Ready to tackle each to-do, racing towards the finish line as if I’m running towards an ice cream sundae with fresh-made brownies. Anything that interrupts me is unwanted, impenetrable like water off a duck's
back.
Until this moment, when God breaks into my rhythm. Here I have a choice: will I continue on full-steam-ahead, or will I pause and allow God to speak. To be continued ...
"Allow God break into your day today..."
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Photo Credit: Olya Kobruseve from pexels.com
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