I race into the kitchen, open the fridge looking for ideas for dinner. The little ones are running loops — through the kitchen into the dining room into the living room, the front hall, and back to the kitchen. I hear cries for mom, that would be me,  from downstairs. And now, the tea kettle is starting to shrill, the tea kettle I put on for my now elusive late afternoon cup of tea on the front porch.

My heart is exhausted.

I was forgetting that there is time.

For everything there is a season,

and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die:

a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted:

a time to kill, and a time to heal;

a time to break down, and a time to build up;

a time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

a time to gather stones, and a time to gather stones together;

a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

a time to seek, and a time to lose;

a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

a time to tear, and a time to sew;

a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

a time to love, and a time to hate;

a time for war, and a time for peace.”