Listen to me lift my voice.
In praise of early mornings (oh, so early) because I wake up to a quiet house and I slowly work my way upstairs with Maggie in my arms. Of quietly shutting bedroom doors in a futile effort to keep tinies sleeping in and, oh, sing for that first cup of tea. In praise of babies rolling on the rug, scootching and stretching, and growing before our eyes. In praise of children who wake up warm, stumbling down the hall, looking for me.
In praise of a morning off from church in favour of, well, a rest: a rest from running around and going and showing up on time. In praise of quietly reading Scripture at the kitchen table with crumbs under my feet and of listening to my children sing their songs to Jesus when they think I’m not listening. In praise of ten thousand reasons and forevermore. In praise of taking a breath to stand outside and say hello to God.
In praise of loose leaf tea and the perfect mug. Of cold water and fresh food. Of hot showers and white sheets. In praise of deep breaths and slow kisses, of long hold-on-to-me hugs, of children draped on my lap begging for slow back scratches with my fingernails while watching television. In praise of Barbies on the floor and Legos under the bed, of full laundry baskets and towels on hooks, of books laid open and dog-eared decorating magazines.
In praise of sandwiches and oranges, of take-out pizza. In praise of still feeling the relief of pressing send on the email with the latest round of edits on my book, oh, that felt good.
In praise of a husband, working so hard for such long hours, who is finally home for a whole day. Of having two hours to go out alone by myself for the first time in forever. In praise of actually going inside to sit a coffeeshop with a book in my purse, I remember when I used to be the woman who did this, I never do this anymore, now I’m here sipping a flat white in a vintage coffee mug, reading a book in the daylight.
In praise of driving alone with the windows down, the dark stone clouds rising up to reveal the light at last. Of used bookstores and store credit and just one more book: and another.
In praise of a quiet house with tinies playing outside and a baby taking her naps as God and her mother intended, of street hockey and texts from friends, of refusing to do a single thing that could be construed as productive. In praise of knitting a few rounds on a never-ending emerald green sweater while watching two whole episodes of Gilmore Girls, of how my son calls that show “The Fast-Talker Girl Show.”
In praise of wide open windows and green trees, of rain soaked ground and early bedtimes for everyone, of full bookshelves and white jammies with the little feet for the baby, of smudged glasses sliding down a boy’s nose and ringlets and a pixie who can’t stop plotting and a baby who takes us all in. In praise of it all, life as it slows for one day at least, of finding the exhale.
In praise of a Sabbath, hallelujah, offer your thanks.