Today, the sun is shining through the finger-print-smudged window. The smokey breeze from the bonfire in the backyard whispers it’s last farewell to autumn, while Sunny cooks up a lasagna in the kitchen, as seasonal worship music plays.
“Oh, Come Let Us Adore Him,” the voices and orchestra swell, as my heart sings along, and tears pucker just below the surface.
Who is this King of Glory? And how is it that we carry the DNA of His Spirit on the inside of us?
As I look around at our home bursting with movement, delight, noise, and mess, it is clear: this is all the work of the Divine. This King of Glory abides in our midst, O, come let us adore Him!
The younger children are planning a ‘play’ and working out extravagant costumes, while a couple of older brothers conspire strategies to facilitate their latest go-pro video idea; obviously, this involves climbing on the roof. Someone folds laundry, a couple of others are playing tag underfoot, while Nova patrols it all from her seat at the kitchen island, sampling the various cheeses that came in the door from our latest grocery haul.
The scene around me moves with a vibrant, pulsating, dream-like rhythm. We putter, we live, we play together. There is a type of magic in this that is irreconcilable with the maddening pace of future-driven distractions that no longer know how to linger, how to behold, how to rest in the moment.
This is motherhood at it’s grandest: being here, now.
I look into the laughing eyes of my children, stroke tangled hair, nurse little hurts, joke around with my teenagers, make food, clean, laugh… all this on repeat… yet the scene changes, almost imperceptibly, each day, because they grow.
Truly, I already feel the tug of a new season invading this moment, which is why I am all the more committed to being present here, being joyful here, being free here. Because, here is the only place that matters today.