Solitude

Solitude is not a word usually a word associated with being a mother. As birthday gift from my parents, they had the kids for the weekend. It was great when I was busy, but Sunday after church I spent solo. I didn't want to clean or run errands. I spent time on the deck going through Romans, I went to the gym, talked to a friend on the phone and went to Starbucks to read some more before I met Chris for dinner.

The time alone at home reminded me of how busy a day at home is with the kids. We could have done "nothing," according to Isaac, all day, yet I would have been busy running around doing all that needs to get done at home.

I missed it.

Solitude reminded me of how much I love being a mom, even with all the work.

In the quiet, clean house, I missed my kids' laughter, their questions, engaging with them, stepping in for teachable moments, their evidence of creative play (puzzles, board games, blocks, "inventions," books, tiny scraps of cut paper, dress-up clothes, and the giant piles of mess that they insist has a specific purpose for the what they are playing), nourishing them with food that is not their "favorite," cleaning the dishes, counters and floors after they are fed, washing clothes before the stain sets in, snuggling on the carpet to read a chapter book, the sound of Isaac talking and talking about whatever (usually trains), Abigail's sing-song voice, taking them outside, discussing with Abigail why she doesn't need to change her outfit yet again, listening to them try to sound out words, telling them to clean up their first mess before making another, finding uncapped markers, dirty handles on the bathroom sink, unflushed toilets, and even the call from Abigail needing me after she "Go-ed poop!"

Thank you, Jesus, that I don't have a life of clean quiet. Thank you for the quiet moments with You in solitude to help me to see it.