of prayer and wonder and anenomes

A dear friend is laboring to bring forth another sweet baby into her family. So I'm praying. Soon, Lord. Another dear friend is resting in bed so that her baby doesn't come. Not yet. Not yet, Lord. Another friend wonders if there is to be another child added to their family. So, again, I pray. Lord, give them wisdom. And peace. I don't live in a quiet household. I've never met anyone with a large family who does. But today has been a quiet kind of day. It was dark and quiet when I got up this morning. I use my stealth-mom capabilities to creep out to the living room to read. Alone. Sometimes it works. Many times it does not. Today it remained dark and incredibly quiet throughout the entire house. I read in Hebrews on my phone so that I wouldn't have to even turn on a lamp. It worked. 9 chapters and forty whole minutes later the first of many woke up and they all started wandering into the living room to greet the day. And I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for it all. All the blessings. Husband. Children. Seven total. A warm fire burning. The Word. God's comfort. Friends. Family. New opportunities. Children who whisper to each other while I write for a few moments. Reading the same picture book to my four year old over and over again. Every day. Lentil soup. It didn't looked like it turned out that good, but it was delicious. The lentils turned to mush. Who knew. Sometimes mush tastes good.

One of my plans for this new year is to stop what I'm doing to observe the things my children find fascinating. To see the glory in the mundane and sometimes frustrating things life is made of.

This week one of those things we're observing and marveling at is ice. Simple. Common. Sometimes destructive. Beautiful. So when he says two days in a row, "Mom! Come outside and see..." I do. I come. I look. And I pray that I will see. Beauty. Eyes of wonder in a not-so-small-anymore boy. Nature. Creation.