Sitting in my darkened home.
The sky lost it's color after the bright burst of sundown.
Losing track of time as I skim through posts from the day, the week, the past few weeks.
The office shines out dim lamplight.
The dryer whooshes with my sheets.
It's later than I realized. And I realized almost too late that if those sheets didn't get taken out of the washer and put into the dryer then bedtime would just be one more late item in this already late day.
Soccer practices, rushing dinner prep, working it in stages, throwing it on the table, rushing the kids to eat. Rushing the kids to bedtime routines, into bed. Rushing, rushing. So often rushing.
Slow down. That's the only thing I find my mind quietly hollering. And it is a quiet holler, even if those two words are seemingly incompatible. And I hear it, I do. But I can't seem to get my body to listen. Or my heart.
* * * * * * * * * * *Slow down to hear, to see, to appreciate......
This morning, I watched Puck troll the living room perimeter on chairs set up for Bible study. He didn't want to touch the floor.
I made my first connection to the Israelite's daily job of collecting manna to my daily need to collect promises from God's word. (One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp, I am just now reading this beautiful book thanks to my friend Kim.)
Antibiotics--because we still have sickness in this household. It's just one of those years.
Flip-flops. I unearthed mine for the summer. Blessedly warm weather is going to follow us into May, or so it seems for now.
* * * * * * * * * * *
So the days go on. And I am thankful--even when they seem to go by so quickly, yet so much the same, I am thankful.