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All in Prayer
Bedtime is an intimate appointment with our children. Our kids need certain cues before falling asleep to let them know all is well. We all have slightly different routines and that is okay...but today I want to remind us all (myself included) of what’s important for every bedtime routine: God’s Word.
Nothing will soothe a child’s heart, while directing them to our Savior quite like God’s Word....
Moms, when we are exhausted, our inspiration can run dry, and we often feel feeble in our attempts to create our homes, to love, and to celebrate. But even in those moments, especially in those moments, God's voice cuts through and leads us and blesses our children more than we could ever imagine.
I used to get frightened on those nights when my husband traveled.
For the first 13 years of our marriage he traveled off and on. Some months were worse than others. I remember one particular October he was gone 18 days that month alone. May was the worst month of all. I always dreaded May, the month he was on the road visiting all offices throughout the Pacific NW. There were barely enough days in the month for him to visit them all, so often times travels rolled over into June.
I was scared he would get in a car accident, a plane crash, or worse.
I would lie in bed at night and hear weird noises downstairs, outside on the property, and even down the hall.
I remember putting on a movie to try and distract myself, but all it really did was cause me to worry more.
Death can provide an exclamation point on a life that was already expressing the glory of God.
My friend passed between that one-day-will-be-thin sheath of death and life and I tried to remember if I'd ever told her how much of an imprint she'd left upon me.
Claire and I shared a small city but couldn't have been more different, back then. She had six children. I had none. My womb was empty -- and sometimes I wore a suit to work. I was fumbling through my twenties, both unsure of myself and also overconfident and she had bigger concerns than her weekend plans. She'd earned her grey hair.
As we gathered around tables set with gold, blue, and green chargers topped with china; iced water poured into crystal, flowers brimming over vases, we also noticed several lovely, mismatched little pitchers scattered amongst the setting. Some were plain creamware, others cut-glass, some painted with dainty flowers, others edged in gold. Joining us at the table set in her kitchen area, Sally Clarkson picked one up and reflected, “We wanted you to take with you a reminder of your need to be filled, as you constantly pour out to your families at home.”
“Mommy, come. I’ve found this path and there are so many flowers.”
It’s morning, and our second day camping in Jasper, Alberta, our favorite place on earth with its mountain peaks—like a father’s hands cupped, shielding this sacred hollow of water and spruce from the rest of the world.
I leave my coffee and follow my oldest son to the path he’s found and he points out the daisies, the bluebells, the buttercups.
