When your daily activities are in concert with your highest priorities, you have a credible claim to inner peace. – Hyrum Smith


3/24/14

Little Preacher

Tonight as we were cleaning up the kitchen, I was lamenting the fact that I had just swept and mopped that morning (not that anyone  could tell).

"I'll help, Mommy," Parker chimed in, and he ran to the pantry for the broom.  As he made small piles all over the kitchen floor, I followed behind, dustpan in hand.

"Mom," he said thoughtfully, "It's kind of like these messes are our sins.  Everyone makes messes every day.  Well, everyone sins, I mean…And it's like this house is God's house…and we are all His children.  We sin every day and he just cleans it all up for us…And He never minds."

I had tears in my eyes.  "I think you're exactly right.  Where did you get that idea?"

"I dunno.  Just popped in my head."

"Parker, I think you'd make a great preacher one day," I commented.

"Well…I already have my job picked out," he replied.

"Oh yeah.  Lego Builder, right?"

"Right."

"Well, maybe you could just preach on weekends."

He thought for a moment.  "Yeah, I could take my kids to a fancy restaurant, like McDonald's, and if we met some people, our kids could play, and if they didn't know about God, I'll gladly tell them.  I might bring my Bible…just in case."

"Good idea, buddy."

3/19/14

Slippery little devil

I gave Caleb a bath today.  Not an unusual occurrence.  In fact, quite the opposite.  I can't tell you how many baths I have given little babies over the last 7 years.  Too many to count!

I sat perched on the edge of the toilet, Caleb on my lap, and turned on the bath water.  As the tub filled, I slipped his onesie over his head and his diaper off his bottom.  Plop, into his bath seat he went.  A quick scrub, some shampoo, rinse, conditioner, and out again.  As I toweled him off in my lap, I shook my head at the ease of it all.  Second nature.

Then tears sprung to my eyes.  Because it won't be second nature for long.  I can handle slippery little babies with ease, but this is a skill based upon repetition.  My confidence is a direct result of experience, and lots of it.  But I doubt it's like riding a bike.  I may not forget how to bathe an infant, but I will never be as adept at it as I am now.  And this makes me incredibly sad.

I remembered how very nervous I was to give Parker his first bath.  It was torture trying to get him out of his little gown.  I agonized over the water temperature and was certain he would catch a cold because I couldn't dry him quickly enough.  I remember humbly accepting grandparents' help.  Even then I hovered...What if he slipped from their grip?  What if soap got in his eyes?  Did they really remember how to do this?

I snapped back into the moment.  A darling, slippery little devil bouncing on my knee.  And I realized that this routine I had repeated oh so many times, was not as mundane as it had seemed yesterday.  It was in fact, fleeting…precious.

Swallowing hard, I let the water out of the tub.  I nuzzled Caleb's neck, as only his momma can, and dried his cotton candy hair.  I thanked God for the moment, reserved only for parent and child.  For a momma and her last baby.