The dishes were left on the counter last night. The washing machine was full of wet clothes from yesterday morning, and as soon as I stepped my feet onto the wooden floors in the entryway, I could hear bickering. Someone was upset they didn’t get the last of the milk, and another squabble in the school room from a child who claims someone “stole,” their pencil.
Every little thing that has the potential to ruin my day, seems to be magnified when I am not feeling well.
Rest. Yes, I am listening. But, this is the first five minutes of my morning. Where is the rest in this?
By the time I gathered my brood to begin the day, we were all rather grumpy. My rest has meant more burdens for the girls, and although they are champs at running our home, they become weary too. This breaks my heart. A lot.
It seems that this is going to be ONE of THOSE mornings.
Why do rough mornings catch me by surprise?
22 years of mornings and motherhood has allowed be the best and the worst moments to ruminate upon. It seems that dirty dishes, piles of laundry and a little squabbling shouldn’t disrupt the soul in such a dramatic way. My heart tells me to keep stepping through the journey, allowing the missteps to not take me by surprise, but my emotions are slow in following pursuit. Not everything stops when your health is catching up. Sometimes, mama’s are really the only one’s that can bring a calm to her home. Sometimes.
Getting through the morning was like a tug-of war. The pulling of my desire to bring a calm order to my home, finish the school year, jump into more spring cleaning, and spend time outside in the gardens with the warm earth was competing with the pushing back of orders to rest, heal and be still. When all we crave some days when there is nothing to do, and then we are given the “chance,” all in one unexpected swoop, why is it so hard?
And then the remedy came hard and just as unexpected as the ruined day.
The sterile halls that led me to a new room on the 2nd floor was the last place I thought I would have to be in the middle of this very long day. The elevator had scraped off stickers from the 80’s and the halls were Navajo white. Which is really a tan, depressing color. I could hear my own quiet steps as I waited to find this forgotten room lost on the 2nd floor of the hospital. A step back into time. Seemingly not conducive to healing.
Infusion Center. The plain, white sign seemed to stand alone right in the middle of the hall. There was not a reception desk, or a friendly smile to greet the patients. If the walk hadn’t pushed my mood a little farther into bleak, then I wasn’t prepared for the entrance.
Sleeping, very sick people, attached to IV’s scattered the seats on the perimeter of the room. Not one person saw me enter. No one moved from their stations. The average age in the room was 60, and most had drifted to sleep in their idleness. A woman in her late 80’s lay in a bed in the middle of the room, crying in pain. Holding her head, saying she just wanted to get well and go home. Just. Her upper arms were as big around as the smallest part of my wrist and she never opened her eyes. She cried, talked, received her treatments, but never opened her eyes.
My transfusion was painful. It infiltrated, and I chalked it up as par for the day. I smiled at the nurse and told her it was ok. Because it was. An infiltration the size of a golf ball on my right arm, and moving onto the left could not have ruined my day now.
There were very lonely, sick and lost people occupying the seats in this room. The only thoughts that were left to occupy my mind while I watched another infusion filter into my veins, was the deep, deep blood that Christ gave for me to not wallow in my own difficult moments. I thought about the woman who couldn’t or wouldn’t even open her eyes. The misery that surrounded her every day had become too much for her to even look upon. I watched her closely. I forgot about the dishes, the laundry, the school tests. She had her full mental capacities, she knew her birth date, her name and she never once winced when the injection to relieve her pain was stuck into her thin skin. And never once did she open her eyes to see who or what was around her.
When the ruin is all I can see, the redemption has slipped through the cracks of my vision. He is greater than ALL of this. I had forgotten to stop looking for things to ruin the day. Those “things” will always be there.
This room had become hostage to the illness. The cure dripped into our veins and we still sat isolated, alone and with our eyes closed to the reality of what really defines us. He is the Power in Our Veins! We are more than Conquerors in Christ!
An infusion of future grace was my remedy for a ruined day.
This is not my story. This life I wake up to every morning is His. I will not ruin it with my own agenda. May our lives be woven together with the hope that lies within us. Something beautiful. Even in the ruins.