Now

The cry arises from the kitchen table; one child is stuck on three’s in his multiplication recitation, and he complains because his brother is missing in action, as I did not give him his next task quickly enough. And the baby is crying as she frantically grabs at my apron, untying it and pulling my neck out of alignment. I feel the anxiety creeping up my spine, and a stubborn unwillingness to move from my post, for you see, I am communing with God here at the sink, selfishly imagining that this moment is mine.

But let me tell you, dear reader, how a mama can soar through the heavens even as her hands are rooted in greasy dishwater and a little one clings to her leg.

Come and see
Look on this mystery
The Lord of the universe
Nailed to a tree

Christ our God
Spilling His holy blood
Bowing in anguish,
His sacred head

Can you hear it? The music is flowing out of our stereo, making the children still, and sending my soul into orbit. The baby stops crying and sways, raising her arms just like Mama.

Sing to Jesus
Lord of our shame
Lord of our sinful hearts
He is our great Redeemer
Sing to Jesus
Honor His name
Sing of His faithfulness
Pouring His life out unto death

I am being poured out, spilled, overflowed. But not unto death. No. And yet I am reminded that He was, and I step away from the sink to catch my children in my arms and hold them, our heads bowed. And He still calls…

Come, you weary
And He will give you rest
Come you who mourn
Lay on His breast

I want to rest. And so my soul soars upward, past the moon, around the stars, to that blanket of pasture called “Quiet Waters”. Burying my face in his robe, sleeping in sweet peace, even as my forehead rests on that of my seven-year-old, and my arms encircle the two youngest children.

Christ who died
Risen in paradise
Giver of mercy
Giver of life

A mama worships in snatches, her adoration is fragmented, but He is still listening. He knows me so well that He can finish my sentences – “God, I’m…” “Weary, yes, beloved, I know. Come rest.” How patient, how merciful is the love of our Father! To find me at the sink, to cut through the fog of clamor, the mists of exhaustion, and meet me there, pulling me out of myself, and drawing my eyes back to the purpose of my days…feed, love, lead.

Sing to Jesus
His is the throne
Now and forever
He is the King of Heaven
Sing to Jesus
We are His own
Now and forever
Sing for the love
Our God has shown

Now and forever – they intermingle. And suddenly, now doesn’t seem so difficult. Now seems so very, very important. My soul comes to rest inside me, and I am again present, and willing.

Now he is stuck on his sixes. Now the preschoolers’ second task has been finished, and he is again missing, and now the baby is back at my side, clinging like pollen on a daisy.

Now...keep singing…to Jesus.