When the growing-too-fast baby snuggles into his fleecy pajamas, cozying into his crib. When the jumping-off-the-walls preschooler nods off, nestled under a fort of blankets. When the juggling-a-million-plates husband’s eyelids fall heavy as he reads the little ones just one more story.
When my little world is fast asleep, I’m wide awake.
My days are filled with chaos. Beautiful, sure, but nothing short of chaos. And messy. My days are very messy. And loud. Really loud.
But as my little world quietly sleeps right now, I’m not quite sure what to do with myself.
Because my heart is down the hall, tucked away in three bedrooms.
I’ve recently found myself wishing away the day. Yearning for quiet in the cacophony of baby tears and dog barks and “MOMMY!”‘s. Wishing for rest in the never-ending cycle of diaper changes and lunch making and chasing my crawler from the stairs and pulling my climber off the counters.
And yet, when my little world quiets down, I can’t seem to do much of anything. I have to fight the urge to tip-toe into the nursery, just to watch the rise and fall of Asher’s chest as he dreams. I have to resist climbing into the twin bed with the race car blanket, just to soak in some Joseph snuggles.
Sometimes, I feel like I’m not cut out to stay home with my kids. I’m not hyper-organized, I don’t create Pinterest-worthy crafts, and I don’t like cooking. I let Joseph play the Wii more than he should and Asher is usually sporting crusted leftovers somewhere in his hair. But when my little world goes quiet, I know. I know that somehow, in the midst of my many imperfections, I’m meant to be in this perfect chaos.
When my little world goes quiet, I can hear God whisper, reminding me.
Reminding me he has woven together our little family with threads of grace and no mistakes. Reminding me that when my little tribe calls me mama, I get the privilege of being part of something greater than myself.
Reminding me that my little world with big noise is a living, breathing love song he’s writing just for us.