I climbed on to the bed with a heavy heart, pulled the covers and slipped inside. On my left is hubby, eyes heavy with sleep, reaching for my hand to pray before he slips into deep sleep; on my right is the bassinet where the baby was transitioning out from a deep sleep that was audible by the moaning and sucking of her fingers. I had just finished giving my daughter a cold compress. She was temping 105. This was going to be a long night.
My heart was not heavy due to her sickness. My heart was heavy from its own sickness.
We prayed quietly, under our breath so as not to wake up the baby, or rather mumbled and we both amen’ed. My husband was fighting the sleep, I was fighting the wake. My heart was condemning me that I wasted the day.
All I did was wake up, feed the baby, make breakfast for the family, met with their teacher to plan out the rest of the year, spend some time to research and plan out the curriculum, called truce between the boys who would tattle while they scream, read books to the little guy who is still figuring out words, comfort and firmly distract my daughter who would break out into demands every time the fever spiked, and folded the baby’s laundry. Make lunch, wash dishes, settle into the couch to pump for the baby, and all the while calling on the boys who I anticipated would run into the living room with a limb hanging out of their joint. Finish up pumping, coax the kids to take a nap, massage the fever girl’s head, and then doze off for 5 minutes.
Wake up to a screaming husband who was giving a piece of his mind to the boys who apparently had not stayed in bed, sneaked into the craft box and spilled all the beans from the sensory box into the carpet. I show up irritated, drive the boys back to bed, pick up the now crying baby from the loud scale conflicts, stomp downstairs, yell at my daughter to stay in bed or the fever never leave her (she now wants to know what she missed upstairs) the swing calms the baby down and I put my legs up.
I work on an important mail, it is 3.30 pm. Takes my mind off on the computer, put my leg up for a while, browse…research more curriculum. Boys come down again, demands milk, I make tea for my husband and warm milk for the boys, they watch TV while I cook dinner. Feed the baby again, wash sink full of dishes, (figured it is easy to wash than empty the dishwasher and load) family eat dinner, husband prays with them and puts kids to sleep, I wash bottles, sterilize and pumps again. Gave cold compress to the fever girl, climb in bed, its close to midnight and I mumble to myself after praying,
I wasted my day!
It is 12 am now, I need to preach the gospel to myself. And this is what I say.
Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see.
By faith I believe when I swallowed my resentment of their dramas, my children would be swallowed up in the unfolding of grace that points to Christ.
By faith when I left the room from having the last word, God’s presence would fill every corner of that room implementing His lasting will.
By faith I believe the battles that I did not pick up would become the Lord’s battles.
By faith I believe that when I used my feeble hands to touch a feverish child, and worried that I couldn’t heal her, but broke out in praise every time the fever broke, I was letting the healer touch and make a witness of her.
By faith the stories I read them while dozing off would fuel their dreams to be the kings and queens God would make them one day.
By faith I muster courage to meet the teacher who wants a word with me. And when she tells me my child is different and a whole lot of other concerns, by faith I believe this same difference would be the one that makes a difference in the world.
By faith the food I cooked and the dishes I washed that rarely satisfies till the next meal, will speak volumes of the Provider who satisfies forever.
By faith the love I showed my husband in respecting him before the kids, while I wanted to call out the bluff he made or his sternness that cut a child, instead chose to respect him, would one day showcase the story of the blood bought bride who admires the Groom in my children’s marriages.
By faith when I rest, and do not undertake another project that perhaps could earn me some recognition, I am reflecting the creator who takes time to call off creation and rest.
By faith the laundry I folded that belonged to 16 hands and legs would one day take the gospel to 16 different countries.
By faith I believe in a God who redeems my day even when all I have done was cook, clean, comfort and crash.
By faith I believe the economy of a God who multiplies grace and strength exponentially when I surrender the fear of doing this all over again tomorrow.