i need this new habit

Scenario One

Yesterday, I woke up at 5:43 am because my shoulder was bugging me.  Instead of going back to bed, I stayed awake, prayed, blogged, and tidied the house.  By the time my family was awake I was full of energy and ready to go.

I felt great.  Motivated.  Energized.

Even though my sleep was less.

Scenario Two

Today, I woke up at 7:14 am because I wanted to sleep in.  Instead of getting up, I tried to squeeze those last minutes of sleep out me.  By the time my family woke me up (namely Samuel) I was feeling already behind.

Anxious. Feeling behind.  Tired.

Even though my sleep was more.

******************

You would think that I would want to follow scenario one.  Yet, I quickly fall prey to the idea, the comfort, of sleeping in.  Yet, that 90 minutes extra transforms my day.  I think it's because I'm able to fill my cup -- and then I have energy to fill my family's cups.  Otherwise, it's this great competition of self.

It's interesting to read that other blogging mommas have the same goal.  I wrote this post this morning, but waited to publish till after lunch.  When I came back to blogger (during one of those scheduled break times), I saw that Mandy -- from the blog From the Trenches of Motherhood -- has rising early as her goal as well.  I think I see a theme.....

So, tomorrow, I'm going to try to get up at 6am.  We'll see what happens -- I'm pretty sure my day will follow scenario one.

How about you?  Do you find a difference to your day depending on the time you wake up?

uncooked noodle

That's how I've felt.

Inflexible.

Brittle.

As I prepared dinner several nights ago, on a day where my body was worn, I paused as I watched the boiling water on my stove.  I held some angelhair noodles in one hand and as I dropped them into the churning water I began to realize how I was like that uncooked noodle. As soon as it hit the water the noodle immediately changed shape -- it became soft, had energy, and moved easily.

Unlike me.

Due to the lack of water in my life I gradually became worn -- and quite easily broken.

And I'm not talking about 2 parts hydrogen to 1 part oxygen here.

I'm talking about living water -- life from the Lord.   Sadly, many days I'd wake up and continue on my day with my old strength.  Slowly my gaze shifted to things of this world.  What wasn't done. What I needed to do.  What wasn't right.  What wasn't working.

I needed life.

If anyone is thirsty let him come to me  and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.  John 7 : 37-38

But how?  How with life with seven kids?  With homeschooling? And ballet? And being a wife?

I'm tired.  Really tired.  I've got sick children (yes, they're still sick).  And bills to pay.  And chores.  When, Lord, when?  How to do this? 

I had convinced myself that the only way to "properly" give myself life was to set aside 30 minutes in the morning.  A quiet time.  I failed --  Miserably -- day after day.  It became impossible to rise at 5:30 when Samuel had just been awake at 4:30.  So I prayed.  And through those prayers, and words from others at opportune times, I began to realize that for this season, in my life, time with the Lord might not be that 30 minutes in the morning. And that was okay.

It might happen while I do laundry.  Yeah, laundry.  We've all got it, right?  Maybe I listen to my Bible instead of read it.  Maybe I pray while I fold.  Sure, there's not the serene atmosphere of an early morning study, but it is real.  

And sometimes in realness there becomes rawness and then authenticity.

So I leave verses scattered about my home to meditate on.  I study the Word with my children as we read our Bible in the morning.  And I pray throughout the day.  Not the long prayers that I could pray before I had children, but rather short prayers.  Of thanks.  Of need.  For encouragement.  And strength.

And life, real life, began to flow back into this tired momma's heart.

God met me through daily life.  

I still long and look for longer moments of quiet time.  Deep down, I know that time will return.  My kids will grow, my home will quiet down.  But, for now, the Lord has graciously shown me that He is there in all times throughout the day.  I just needed to align my heart with His.

Blessed is the man

who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked

or stand in the way of sinners

or sit in the seat of mockers.

But his delight is in the law of the LORD,

and on his law he meditates day and night.

He is like a tree planted by streams of water,

which yields its fruit in season

and whose leaf does not wither.

Whatever he does prospers.

Psalm 1: 1-3

Be encouraged friends -- be encouraged today. Find joy, real joy, in Him.

feeling stuck

I'm feeling out of it.

Today, at church, I started to cry.  Tears welled in my eyes as the words, "My Jesus Saves" were shown on the screen.  I was holding Samuel.  His little head was nestled in my shoulder. Safe.

It was too close.

I don't know if I was running on adrenaline or what, but all of a sudden today I find myself completely exhausted.  Every cell seems to scream for rest. But, when I sit still I find my mind racing.

Did it really happen?

Yet, in my purse, there in a tiny medical Ziploc bag, is a pink star. A reminder.  I need to let it go.  Not the star -- I'm saving that for him -- but the worry and fear.  It's like my mind is wrestling with the what-if's when he's upstairs sleeping soundly.  I wonder why our minds do that.  Is is just a part of dealing with things?  Wondering? Reliving the days?

I just need to move forward.

But, I feel stuck.  Every cough, every wheeze (he's still wheezing -- especially when he rests), every bit of drool causes me to worry.

Maybe I need to actually deal with this.

I'm such a person who likes to push through things -- move on -- you know, pull up my boot-straps -- toughen up.  Yet, I'm beginning to suspect that I need to remember.  To process.  To let go. And in the release there is praise. Samuel is safe.  The Lord has his life etched on His palm.  I am blessed and honored to be his mother.  In all times -- good and bad.  Honestly, when I was attempting to rest with him at the first hospital I kept thinking about how I was so grateful that I could be with him.  That I could comfort him, rub his back, and sing to him.  When the nurses brought him back after his surgery he reached for me.  That was the first time he's ever done that -- and I ran to him.  Literally.  I scooped him in my arms and let his sweet little head burrow into my chest.  And I held him.  Close.

So today I write.  I write about how I'm feeling weepy despite the goodness.  I write about feeling stuck on what happened last week despite it being Sunday. I am so grateful for Samuel.  I am so grateful for his life.  I am so grateful.  I write today, not because of not being grateful, but just because of those emotions that simply cannot seem to settle.  And in that writing -- I slowly am finding freedom.  A freedom to be real, to process and to move forward.  Maybe dealing with it allows me to heal. To keep walking.