Being a good blogger requires the personality of a narcissist; coming up with something new and profound to write about. And many days, although I have a lot happening that I could talk about, I honestly don’t feel like I have anything to offer that would be remotely interesting to anyone else, including my husband.
Hi Honey, how was your day?
Fine. I changed diapers, schooled kids, cleaned the house, then watched as they tore it up again. I’d like to drink a beer in the bathtub with only my book, but I still need to clean the kitchen and fold a mountain of laundry before I pass out in an exhausted heap. And no, I do not feel romantic tonight.
It’s not like I have deep revelations from God every morning (although I constantly pray for them) that will change your life (or mine). Recently, my cherished quiet times have been accompanied by my sweet-faced baby boy, who is now so intrinsically linked to my sleep cycles, that he cannot possibly stay asleep when I am not laying beside him. This means my previously child-free meditation/writing times come punctuated with coos and squeals from a freshly-rested bundle of life, with plenty of frustrated grunts as the young one tries to figure out how to get his toys closer, or how to roll from his stomach to his back. An interesting addition has been the pigeons…
Mr. and Mrs. Pigeon moved into our patio’s storage closet a few weeks ago, when the door was accidently left open. For an afternoon, the kids and I watched, fascinated, as they flew back and forth with sticks in their beaks, building a little nest behind the water heater. Anthony was not OK with the idea of more critters in our space (have I mentioned that we have a bug problem?), and shut the door. I felt so bad: the birds had spent all day getting that tiny pile of sticks back in the closet, and now all their hard work was closed off. But they haven’t given up. They are now making a new nest behind Anthony’s bike (which does not fit in the storage closet). He’s relented. As long as they don’t mess up the satellite dish, they can stay.
So every morning, when Joshua and I come into the living room for sunrise, I open up the sliding glass door to our patio, and Mr. and Mrs. Pigeon coo a morning song to Joshua. And he is fascinated! He lays on his play mat perfectly still as the birds hum and talk. When they stop, he begins to kick and wiggle and sing his own song until the birds begin again. This morning, that drama was much more exciting to me than the thick passage of Deuteronomy I was attempting to delve through. Josh’s exuberance is so total; so embodied! Every part of him quakes and anticipates the sound of the bird’s song, and then ceases to move a muscle while they converse in their strange way.
So, ignoring the blessings and curses in the Old Testament, today I meditated on that child-like anticipation. When I come before the presence of God, it is rarely with quaking and trembling, or even an elevated sense of excitement. At best, my attitude is that of duty and habit. And when I hear the Voice begin to sing morning songs to me, I’m often so overwhelmed with all the other sounds (my to-do list, my worries), that I am not still and quiet. But, even if the Voice has nothing revelatory to say, but simply sings for the joy of singing, isn’t that enough? Shouldn’t I just be still and bask in the beauty and wonder that this Voice sings to me? That God loves me so much that He will sing for me?
“The Lord your God in your midst,
The Mighty One, will save;
He will rejoice over you with gladness,
He will quiet you with His love
He will rejoice over you with singing.”
I continue to struggle to learn this lesson, of being quieted with His love, but I think having my children as an example helps.
How do you cultivate child-like faith in the Presence of this God who sings over us??