Blogging Ideals

Somewhere in the idylls of my imagination I picture myself sitting down in a peaceful, clean home with a really nice glass of wine (of which I have found very few!); the children are in bed and I am relaxing a little at the end of the day, jotting a few of my momentous thoughts down for the world to read before I too make my way to slumberland.

Reality is a little harsher.

I am sitting on the couch with a cup of sleepytime tea, hoping that that will help me rest better than I have the last several nights. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I put the children to bed half an hour early because they didn't hardly nap today due to a doctor's appointment and they were overtired; I've now been upstairs three times and Kenny keeps crying off and on. This last time I spent a good 20 minutes pitifully singing over and over what few children's songs I can remember the majority of the words to and from there we branched into hymns and a few numbers from musicals that I watched way to many times in my childhood. The kitchen is a clutter. Every time I try to do the dishes someone starts crying so instead of the neat and tidy home that soothes my soul I am sitting in the dark so that I can't see the toys scattered all across the carpet. I'm desperately trying to ignore the mound of laundry that needs to be folded and the other mound that needs to be washed. And there goes Kenny again. Sounds like I had better go up and check on him. ... And the bottle wins again. Sigh. It's only 50 minutes past his bedtime. Julianne is at least finally asleep.
My tea is getting cold. I should go to bed. I have to get up in four hours to see Ken off to work.

Definitely far from the idyllic picture in my head.

But I love it. I love every precious minute of having a husband to get up early with and fix his lunch and spend a few precious minutes in quiet conversation and prayer before he heads out the door for another long day. I love having to go upstairs three time and embarrassing myself by "singing" to my little ones so that they'll relax (which they did, they just didn't go to sleep). I love feeling those tiny hands that I waiting so long to hold wrap around mine while I make a fool of myself for them. Having toys all over the floor and, yes, stepping on them because I am too tired to clean them up. Sitting here propped up determined to write down a few thoughts while I drink my now insipid tea (because I'm too tired to go warm it). My eyes fill with tears at how blessed I am. These long-awaited joys are mine. And I am grateful. And blessed. My soul is just blessed. It seems trite to use that word: "blessed". People throw it around so easily. I guess I could say that my soul is overwhelmed with joy, but that doesn't truly encompass it all either.
I am secure in the knowledge that I have done nothing to deserve this family; but God in His great grace has given me something that daily makes me lift my face to His, often with wordless gratitude and praise. To me it is a miracle. I have always been a little afraid that if I received something that I wanted so desperately much that it might interfere with my relationship with God. And there are some people who probably think that it is because some of the outward acts of Christianity are not so steady in my life at the moment. But my heart is secure in God's hand. He owns it and yet continues to woo me. This is a great grace. He is truly a consummate lover, tenderly placing reminders of Himself throughout my life. Just like the jewelry and other gifts I have from my husband, God has given me my husband and children to serve as reminders of Himself in my life. And I am blessed.

Exhausted. But absolutely and blissfully blessed!