Interruptions

The alarm went off at 6:30am. Not mine. His. His alarmed snoozed every nine minutes until 7:00am when mine went off. Every nine minutes until 7:00 am, I thought to myself that it was time to get up and spend time with Jesus. Those precious moments every morning; moments I attempt every morning. When I am entirely honest with myself, those mornings are at a 2:7 ratio. Precious moments, when the house is silent, the senses overwhelmed by the smell of rich coffee brewing, the heavy blanket of quiet and heartfelt moments - when my Savior sings to me. 

But back to this morning… The alarm snoozed until 7:00 am at which point I finally folded the blankets back, oh that soft down comforter that earns its namesake with its weight, warmth, and softness. I didn’t want to. But I did want to be with Him. 7am means I have 15 minutes to get brushed, washed, dressed and ready for the day. And now only 15 to spend with Jesus. Experience would say that I need 45 to get my study, coffee, prayer done, before waking the kids. Another battle for another morning, I think. “Do better tomorrow.” I grab my phone to do a quick study through a Bible app. I quickly get ready as I read, attention divided. It feels unfair and reeks to me of ingratitude.

I get out to the computer to prepare to actually read my Bible, thin paper between my

fingertips that have grown to feel like home, the door opens and chaos enters. It is 7:30, and the gang is all here. Desperately I glance at the dishes I’d hoped to be deeply engrossed in by now, giving the kids time to avoid putting clothing on for their day. Those aren’t done, and I quickly realize that my choices are time with Jesus, or time with kids. Or time with husband. Or dishes. Acknowledging my general disdain for dishes, I accept defeat willingly and commit them to another hour or another day. It’s already been two days. I reiterate to myself, “another hour or another day”. The kids aren’t dressed, and the clock is still ticking. Husband just sat down to play the piano with oldest. I desperately want Him to come first, but it’s just not happening. Stupid snooze. Stupid blankets, stupid humanity. Stupid time management. Stubbornly, I push through. Nope. I’m going to get this done, and they’re going to have to live. I read the story of the woman with the alabaster jar and find justification for my neglect therein. This is a noble thing. I am pouring out for you, Lord. Take control of my time. It is apparently short and precious. I turn to my laptop and commit to read the devotional and find that the children have heeded my warnings to get dressed and now want to talk. One wanted a bagel instead of an English muffin, and that, my friends, is in fact defcom 5. Negotiations take place, and half of the muffin is eaten. Another tells me about the world they created in their latest video game where only he and his brother can play together. The husband comments on how he will play only to blow their stuff up. The dog is hitting me with her cold nose, beckoning my attention; otherwise stomping around and being a dog. Noise. Divided, I continue glancing at my screen, desperately trying to give my attention to the screen. I look to my husband, children still happily chatting and one dropping a book in front of me and climbing into my lap. “You’re going to have more time than you know what to do within about an hour, love…”

I take a sip of my coffee. It is already cold. Was it really poured well over an hour ago?

I nod, feeling corrected and defeated simultaneously. I read the book happily, remembering that it is one of my favorites of theirs, rubbing the still tiny feet as I read, realizing that it

won’t be long before she doesn’t fit on this lap anymore, and it won’t be long before those feet are bonier and more awkward. I attend the conversation about the games and see the gratitude in his giant brown eyes, when mine meet his, his love cup filled by unabated acceptance, and my undivided attention. He needs that. I sniff the hair of the middle as he puts his head on my shoulder while we three chat, remembering when it smelled sweet. Like fresh sliced strawberries and baby powder. The memory catches my breath.

Time to leave. I place the phone on the table, intent to leave it there, and determined to give them my time in the car on the way to school. Drop off happens, and I get home. I check my phone, messages to attend to. A bride in subdued worry about a hair and makeup appointment before her engagement shoot. I glance at the computer, devotional and prayer still in wait. I answer the messages with a suggestion of a phone call because, by George, I will sit and read quietly.

All things settled, I finally sit, warmed, rewarmed, and starting to taste stale coffee beside me, turning my attention to the computer screen. I play my praise music, close my eyes in prayer and praise with hopes of stilling my soul long enough to focus my entire attention on Him. His grace, His blessing within chaotic mornings, for tiny corn-nibblet toes, for giant brown eyes, for fluffy-headed, sweaty little boys, and for a husband that speaks truth into my constantly frazzled existence. The water starts running loudly, a phone playing a show

about fishing? Dishes clanking, water running, show playing in offensive unison over my praise music. My husband is doing the neglected dishes. Noise playing over praise, I bite my lower lip and thank God for him, but in-gratuitously fight with the man in my mind. “Now? You have to do that now?” I briefly considered karate chopping him in the throat. I will proclaim that here and I promise that I do repent. I walk away and consider hiding in the bathroom with my laptop and Bluetooth speaker, similar to the time that I hid in there with a bag of Skittles after a bad day. Hiding like a thief in the bathroom to spend time with Jesus??? I text a sweet and dear friend and leave the bathroom. Ready for battle, I approach him, “Is it at all possible that the dishes can either wait, or the show goes away? I can’t concentrate, and I’m trying so hard…” “It drowns out the monotony. I can do it later.” He peacefully walks away and sets about whatever work he had to do elsewhere. That easy. “Thank You for a man that chooses his battles sometimes.” I turn to my computer, choose a calming song, and close my eyes.

The bird starts screeching. Clearly oblivious, my husband starts playing the drums in the

basement.

And that, sweet friends, is about the moment that I removed my attention from quiet time with Jesus, made a hot pot of coffee, and laughing, grabbed my camera, to take some photos of (almost) every offending object of my quiet time for the sake of this writing.

Every spoken offender of my quiet time this morning, is a tremendous blessing in my life. Blessings I prayed for and wept over. Blessed to me in showers of love by an Abba, “Pappa or Daddy” who yes wants quiet time with me, but more than anything wants my love in action. My ministry as a mother and wife is of the utmost importance to Him, one that I imagine, in its brighter moments (chuckle) brings Him great, great joy.

Mothers, young and old. Grammies, mommies, and aunties alike: Your ministry within your relationships with your husbands, friends, children, and grandchildren are of the utmost importance to our Father. Even as I type, I am giggling at what this morning must have looked like to Him, and how He must have laughed at the comedic interruptions of the morning took place. His child trying so hard to sit in that time-out chair, strict obedience in live attempt, as every single interruption stumbled across her senses. All that was missing was the doorbell and trumpets. Even for that imagery, I am so thankful. We get to know Him in that way, and He gets to know us in that way. That’s relationship. That’s fellowship with God and it is not limited to solemn reading, albeit important as that time is. (When we can grasp a hold of it with our cold dead fingertips. Haha!)

The perfume of the alabaster jar isn’t so much the proverbially handed over jar of rich perfume in an intentional time with Jesus every day, it is in the time and energy poured out into ministry. It is in the pouring out of the perfume that the blessing and service of gratitude in action lie. Be it within our families, serving in the church, or within our communities.

The gratitude that fills my heart over this lesson is awe-inspiring and compelling. (Enough so, to stop what I am doing, and write here with you as I unpack it.) I hope it has blessed you too.

Stay the course, sweet mamas. Be willing to see His spirit in everything that you do today and always. My tomorrow will probably look a lot like today. And your mornings just the same, perhaps. Mundane, and overwhelming as these days are, this season of your life is big kingdom work in action. 


Photo credit: Do not copy photos without written permission. Thank you.