Quiet Moments

One of the first things we did before moving in to our new house was ready the bedrooms.  Both downstairs bedrooms were in rough shape (the bedroom being used as the nursery was in the roughest shape... post to come), so some cleaning and some painting was in order.  Our master bedroom went from a flat, dull blue to a brilliant, bright white.  Add a new king bed with cream bedding, some home sewn curtains, and some white-washed furniture and you have a mighty serene atmosphere.

Enter my two sons.  Our second boy was born in mid-July, and neither enjoy a calming environment as much as I do.  So usually my day is spent relishing the ever increasing boyishness of my children - stepping over landmines of plastic trucks, bikes, planes, and trains, pretending to fall down after a karate chop, inspecting bugs close up (and trying not to eat them), etc, etc.  My days are anything but serene. Or calm.

Today was one of those days.  Clarence, our one month old, was screaming in his crib, waiting to be changed.  His brother, Waylon, ran from me half dressed, laughing at my dishevelment as I attempted to put pants on his (thankfully) diapered butt.  The dogs were whining, begging to be let outside, and I was still in my pajamas, hair pulled back in an unkempt pony tail. I was becoming more and more discouraged, when I happened to glance in the corner of our bedroom.

We placed a chair there, next to the window.  During my birthing time with Clarence, I asked Patrick to leave that chair open, to invite His presence in literally.  I imagined Jesus sitting there, in that chair, smiling at me and watching over me as I pushed Clarence into this world.  So I still imagine God sitting in our bedroom, in His chair, watching over us.

And there was that chair, a beam of light falling perfectly across the back.  And suddenly, peace.

Waylon plopped down and I managed to put his pants on (which later he shed after they got wet), Clarence dropped his screams to a slight whimper, and the dogs were silent.  But most importantly, the turmoil that had been building in my inner self with all the ruckus went still.  I smiled at my boys, glancing back at that chair, and knew that peace was always mine.

Yeah, maybe my immediate world is a bit loud and hectic.  But every time Waylon ran from me, I had a son to chase.  Every time Clarence cried for attention, I had a baby to tend.  I have children to love.  Dirty dishes in the sink mean we have food to eat.  Laundry piling up means we have clothes to wear.  Monthly bills mean we have a roof over our heads.  We are so blessed.

Later, when both boys were napping and the house was silent, I snagged a picture of that light-filled chair, to remind myself that He is always there.  I allowed my peaceful heart to enjoy a quiet, serene moment in my house.

And I thanked God for all the moments that are not peaceful.