We are attempting to get back in the flow of things. And by “back,” I mean the rhythm that we had for 4 weeks before we found out Ellie was coming and then I layed on the couch for 8 months. THAT flow.
I’ve already mentioned how frustrating and daunting this can be looking at the big picture.
But I do believe it’s even more maddening in the little minutes that add up to hours that drain me of all that is good and worth keeping.
For example, our morning routine. Why is it so difficult to feed, clothe and pray with the kids in under 2 hours? It’s not always like this, mind you, but the days that are completely overshadow the days that aren’t. The good mornings feel like I’m riding the water over a smooth river – I get somewhere and enjoy the ride. But the bad mornings . . . those feel as if I’m fighting the current, working up through rapids. They push me down, threaten to sink me and in the end, I’m exhausted and spent and I have so little to show for it.
So we flow. Jac speaks patient words to me and it reminds me of the final stages of labor; when the contractions are hard and fast, he tells me to go limp and ride the wave, letting my body slip over the crest.
I look at the half clothed children, the piles of laundry, shut out their noise and breathe. There, underneath it all is a current that I search for. Before long, I will find it and we all will ride it again.
Lord, let it be soon!
