Keyboards tap, papers turn, pencils scratch and questions of misunderstanding flow in torrents. Mom?! Is coming for three different directions all at the same moment.
The washing machine chugs. The coffee pot emits a gurgle.
My daughter flits from room to room busy with artistic endeavors. Chatting in her little girl voice about her creativity.
The clock ticks, ticks, ticks, seconds of our morning away.
Coughing erupts from my oldest and my youngest son sniffs incessantly at my elbow.
I lift my coffee to my lips, smell its calming goodness and swallow hot, comforting liquid energy.
For a moment it is quiet.
No questions. No noise.
I simple, miniscule break in the commotion.
I breathe in deep. And it buoys me.
I can do this. It is my calling.
I can teach. I can mother. I can help and answer the calls.
In that moment of quiet God reminded me of why I do this.
I gaze at my dyslexic son. I watch him as he works through his math. I feel like a ping-pong ball hopping up every couple of minutes to help him decipher. I know his struggles. I know the mountains we’ve climbed and the battles we have won. I see the struggles that still lie ahead waiting to ambush him.
As I pull my eyes away from him, I see the piles of laundry on the sitting room floor. The floor around the table is strewn with books and pencils. There are cups and rulers, calculators and a breakfast dish or two sitting on the dining room table. Math books are pushed up against my computer ready for checking. The kitchen sink is calling for my assistance and the coffee pot needs to be shut off.
In the midst of what may look like chaos, there is growth.
And there is joy.
I am shaping lives. I am climbing mountains.
In the midst of distraction and constant questions there is learning. Deep life changing learning.
Not a surface learning, memorize today; forget tomorrow.
I can do this. I want to do this.
I will be an integral part of my children’s lives. And through our schooling we will make a difference.
I will remember to treasure hearing my name on my children’s lips, even if it is constant.
The washing machine spins to a stop. The computer fan hums. Pencils scratch. Papers flutter.
“Hey, mom?” flows like a burbling stream. The clock ticks. My son hiccups.
I lift my cup to my lips, savor the hazelnut, and swallow.
And in the midst of the torrents I know I am blessed!
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