Because, This Is It

I roll over and the boys come thwomping in with their big boy feet, attached to long legs, their bear-paw hands pulling back the covers, opening my cocoon of down. They leap into my bed, my bottomless pits, and this one whose “love-tank” is never full. These two sandwich me in my bed, “I’m going to snuggle you now!” the younger one announces, eyes glinting in morning sunlight, as if I could be unsure of his intentions in this moment. This one would glue himself to me except that I’d slow him down when the wild urge rises to romp like a bronco, crashing through the house. He throws skinny arms across my shoulders and leans in to me, breathing deep.

And I soak this up, because this is it.

The bulging baskets of laundry lining my bedroom wall need to be folded, and the pan, sticky and crusty from last night’s dinner, desperately needs to be scrubbed. There’s schoolwork unfinished, piling up, and read-a-louds we have started and left unfinished for lack of daylight, for lack of energy. And while these two little boys lay here with me, snuggling, breathing slow and deep in our king sized bed, these thoughts race like tickertape through my mind. And I have to be honest; I have to force myself to be still. To just let them rest with me there. Not because I don’t love their sweetness curled up next to me, but because I have fallen into the trap of doing instead of being.

Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. (James 4:14)

In the business of raising kids, it’s easy to get so busy with the work of life that we forget to take time to rest with our kids. We are blessed when we find the balance of being not only willing, but also eager to take breaks, to snuggle, to sit still, to just rest together.

Every parent knows it; our children literally grow overnight, and this is it.

There will be no way to go back to these mornings wedged between two wild, bed-headed little boys. I think about this and I feel the lump rise hard, like a rock wedged in my throat, a small stabbing in my heart, my eyes moisten with tears.

There will be hundreds of opportunities for me to scrub pans.

There will be loads upon loads of laundry that will need to be folded.

Eventually, the schoolwork will get completed, and the books will be read.

But this, this precious moment, this time where they are willing, and wanting to be held will become harder to find.

I know I will long for it when they pack bags and leave home. I know when I talk to them over the phone, across the miles someday, I will think of this morning and how their bodies were so warm, all of us tucked deep under the down comforter. I will remember the slow soft breathing, the rise and fall of their bare chests, as they drift off into gray space, that foggy whisper between sleep and waking. I don’t want to miss this. Life can change in a moment. Each second we share with our children, our loved ones, is a moment we can choose to really love them, or to leave them wanting.

And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. (1 Corinthians 13:2) (My version: If my house is clean, and school work is done, if my beds are made and our clothes ironed but have not love, I am nothing.)

With their dangly legs flopped over mine, and their faces close on my pillow, I know this is not the moment for rushing to accomplish my ever-growing to-do list. This is not even the moment to think about that list. This is just the perfect moment, to lay still; to thank God for these blessed boys. In our dizzy days of errand running, chore doing, mess-cleaning life, this is only a breath. This is the moment to remember, that this is it.

This is what it’s really all about, isn’t it?

Lord let me not forget this.

If you are like me, and you are tempted to rush on with your day, if you find yourself overwhelmed by all those other things that seems so important, so necessary to be accomplished immediately, lets pray for God to show us when to slow down. Lets ask Him to soften and fine-tune our hearts to the real task of motherhood. Lets take the extra time today, to snuggle, to read a book together with our kids, to step away from the computers and smart phones, and just be still with them. The blessing will be mutual, and the time a gift to be treasured.

Kris loves Jesus with her whole heart, and is a stay at home mom who spends her days homeschooling 4 kids, and playing wife to her amazing husband. The floors are covered in crumbs and the washing machine never stops running but she counts each day as a gift! In her spare time (ha ha ha!) She enjoys writing, reading and photography. Kris can be found blogging at Always Alleluia, her personal blog on learning to cultivate a heart of thankfulness, motherhood and faith.