“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.”
Either I didn’t hear my alarm or I forgot to set it. Whatever the reason, the morning found me trying to cram forty-five quiet minutes into twelve. Then in came my seven-year-old. “Can I sit with you, Mama?” he asked, charming me with his tousled bed head and sleepy eyes.
“Of course, sweetie. I love when you sit with me while I’m reading my Bible and writing in my journal.” I scooted over to squeeze him into the chair and threw the blanket over him, putting my hot tea on the end table so we didn’t get burned. We snuggled in, and I turned my attention back to the passage I was reading. Then in came my two-year-old. “Sit in lap, Mommy,” he croaked in his sleepy voice.
“Yes, of course, Samuel,” I responded, putting aside my journal to make a little more room. Still optimistic about receiving a little inspiration before assembling the breakfast line, changing diapers, making beds, and dressing little ones, I tried to balance my Bible in between the two boys. Beau, my seven-year-old, was crammed in the chair to my right; Samuel, my two-year-old, was sprawled across my left leg; and my arms were around both of them—certainly a precarious position to be seeking inspiration from the Lord in, but this time is my lifeline to sanity. I forged on for a few more minutes underneath the burden of my wiggling boys. Then it started.
“Can you scoot over a little, Mama? I’m squashed,” whined the seven-year-old.
“I’m squashed too, sweetheart.” I tried to stay positive.
“More lap, Mommy!” demanded my two-year-old.
“No, baby, you are fine.” I was still trying to keep the balancing act under control.
I could see the situation was becoming hopeless when in toddled none other than my bright-eyed twelve-month-old. He looked at the two boys in my lap and, with outstretched arms, burst into tears.
Down went my Bible, and up came the baby. The small chair now held four of us, and the end table held my Bible and journal.
“Lord, give me everything I need today to do all You have called me to do. I love you. Amen.”
“Who wants breakfast?” I proposed.
“Me!” the two- and seven-year-old cheered. The baby agreed just as loudly so as not to be left out again. Falling out of the chair, we scrambled to meet the other six kids in the kitchen, ready to tackle another day.