As a young woman I would daydream from time to time of what my
married life with children would be like someday. I did not yet know
who my husband would be or what my future children would look like, but
vague visions of them occasionally filled my mind. I would see
myself reading stories to happy children while we sat in a circle on a
sunshine strewn living room floor, or perhaps, an adorable dirty cheeked
little boy, a football set down on the chair beside him, reading his
schoolbook aloud to me while I kneaded the bread for dinner, or maybe
we'd be taking a walk together on a crisp autumn afternoon, or singing
together at the piano, or even cleaning the house together. But there
would be laughter, appreciation, discipline, joy, wonder, and love.
It
seemed realistic. I'd witnessed bits and pieces of those things
happening in families I admired. I had good examples of Christian
women, wives, and mothers around me. I knew they worked hard (although I could never have known then just how hard), yet they
loved and were loved. I looked forward to being like my idea of them. My future life was like a distant
rainbow, just on the other side of the meadow. Sometime, in the years
to come I would reach it, I hoped.
Fast Forward.
Now here I am, just having passed my seventeenth wedding anniversary, with seven children.
A
few months ago I was doing what I do every morning after having sent
the older children to school and finishing the continuously interrupted breakfast clean up.
I was giving my youngest three children (we'll just call them numbers 1, 2, and 3) their morning
bath. It went something like this. Undress children, 1, 2, 3. Place
children in tub, 1, 2, 3. Dump in toys. Wet down hair, 1, 2, 3. Wash
hair, 1, 2, 3. Wash faces. Wash noses. Let's get on with it. Tell children to put toys back in
bin. Grab towels. Lift children out, 1, 2, 3. Dry.... and on as usual.
But this time, as I watched my children laughing and splashing, pouring cup into cup, and rolling out their washcloths with make believe rolling pins, it struck me.
This is it.
This is your life, your
real married life, with
your real children. Now.
That
future life you imagined all those years ago? It's been here for a
while now. That rainbow you saw across the meadow of coming years? Those storytimes, bathtimes, laughtertimes, lovetimes?
That's now. You're in it. You're under it. The sunshine and the rain that fall on you in so many ways each day that
make that
rainbow. This moment with these innocent,
lively, trusting children
is the pot of
gold. If you don't see it now, you never will. Because this is it.
So if you find yourself like I do at times, being driven forward through your day's routine
and shuffling your children along in your strife to "get this done" so
you can move onto the next thing and then "get that done" so you can
move onto the next, then hopefully, by the grace of God, you can be
stopped dead in your tracks. Dead enough to
see those bright
little eyes right in front of you, and gaze at them in wonder, and
realize, "this is it." There's no next thing. There's nothing better in
this life than this. This moment, this bathtime, is made for you and for them. This is, as they say, the stuff life is made of. It's to enjoy, not get through. These are sons and daughters of God growing up before your very eyes, unique and incomparable gifts, made in His image, and also miraculously procreatively made in the image of your husband, the man God has given you to care for in this life, and yourself.
Yes, there is suffering and there is joy. There is rain and there is sunshine.
And when they come together in just the right way, then is made visible
the seven vibrant colors that were in the light all along. Sometimes we just don't see it... because we're in it.
