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Dear God,

Thank you, thank you, thank you! The Bed and Breakfast was really what the doctor ordered. Laying in bed reading, not watching the clock, lounging, all positively luxurious. I felt as though I could have probably stayed a full week there without growing homesick.

And now I know why. It is the reason I have to address this blog to You. I am so easily anxious. I so easily strive. I so easily fall into the unoriginal trap of fear. In this home, which is my job, attaining perfection seems appropriate when it is not even required. And if I don't come directly to You, then I will fail to hear what You really want from me. I can too easily exclude you from my all the small moments in my life.



Coming home, seeing all four children rush toward us, exclaiming, "Mommy! Daddy!" The baby waving, waiting for the big special smile I reserve just for her because she is the baby. And the two older already working on workbooks, and Verity, wearing a princess dress with rats in her hair, saying, "You weren't here and now you are!" This is better than time alone. This is what it's really about. And there will be a day when I have nothing to do but read in bed and I will crave little voices making little requests.

And so I relished more in those first moments with these little lives, my life wrapped so up in them, than I did in the quiet of my getaway.

But then too soon, I forgot. I forgot that the home is to be a haven. And I do not need to rush, or rush them. We can slowly, as slowly as I moved on my little vacation, return to our going abouts. The laundry will get folded, school work will be finished, our brains won't stop functioning if we just still ourselves for a bit.

Where do I come up with this pressure? Remind me, God, that You are here and everywhere and slowing is often necessary to see you.


Allay, Lord, my compulsion to hurry and to strive. Give me a Mary heart. Let me welcome both time away and time here, finding contentment in all places. I want to not race ahead to each next thing but savor the here and the now.