Amid the piles and chaos, neck deep in chores unfinished and meals always needing to be made, it’s a temptation to believe that this is not where I belong.
Not because I don’t love, but only because it overwhelms.
It feels a thousand percent wrong to give voice to that low growl, to admit that sometimes, it all feels like being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It’s a lie that I’m tempted to believe when beds are wet in the night and directions must be repeated for the umpteenth time, when the macaroni boils over, and fights erupt over the gagillionth toy in this house–that I was made for more than this–the worldly version.
In a world where stay at home mom’s are sometimes thought simple and perhaps even lazy, in a world that thinks staying home with the kids means playing all day or watching soaps and munching bon-bons, while wearing bunny slippers, I sometimes believe it myself–that maybe I don’t belong, that there’s more “out there” than in here.
But before I am deemed worst-mother-of-the year, I want to say that I don’t really believe this.
I don’t really feel it.
It drifts in on very hard days, a whisper of darkness in my ears, that makes me question God–and I realize that I am Eve.
Did God really say…
This place, these four hearts I have the privilege of helping to mold, this mount everest of laundry I climb each week, and the million miles I put in, lapping around this house and up and down the stairs, this is right.
This is where I belong.
Because, I was made for more than this, I was made for heaven, and a small heaven can be here, with God here, with my children in my lap and at my feet, with my husband beside me and family prayers on the big bed.
God really said: yes, this for you, all of this–
It’s a gift, being here.
It is where I belong.
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