Music plays gently from my phone as I write this in the early morning stillness. My coffee is nearby and warms me as I watch the drizzle of rain and the gray sky outside.
Stillness is somewhat relative. A certain 4 year old has been chattering to whomever would listen since 6 am. My patience level at this time of the morning isn’t high, but her daddy had a chat with her and she is looking at books in her bedroom while I catch my breath for another day.
We’ve been busy. (Hasn’t everyone?) There’s been things going on most every weekend for the past several months. During the weeks I’ve been teaching school, doing laundry, cleaning up, managing messes, cooking, and all the normal life things.
Normal life. Yes. Kid drama. Check. Me generally feeling like I don’t have a clue how to parent. Check. Feeling ineffective. Check. Crazy loudness and whining and shrill whistling and thundering up and down the stairs. Moments of tears and exhaustion. Mud and wind blown bike hair. Kitty holding. Angry words. Frustration. Apologies and hugs.
This week I came across two stories. Both mothers. Both with a child who faced life-threatening illness. Both struggled with faith in the face of devastation. One lost her daughter. One was miraculously healed. I was brought to my knees by the stories of faithfulness and pain and surrender and, again, that God does work all things out for good.
This thought prevails in my heart and mind these days. I get caught up in the fear cycle and what ifs and suddenly I remember. All things. When the voices in my mind say I’m not enough and can’t get it right, all things are working together for good. There’s not a personality clash or rotten situation that’s out of the reach of that promise.
This changes my perspective from one of fear to one of promise. Then it’s possible to see all the miracles happening all around me. To see that God’s hand is orchestrating every situation, every word, every prayer, every moment for the glory of Himself and the good of His children.
This takes the mundanity of life, and makes it glorious. The warm coffee, the snuggled-in child on my lap this morning. The freshness of dishes washed and the sun catching leftover bubbles in the sink right before my eyes. My husband walking in and filling up our home with his strong, reassuring presence.
Miracles. All around.