The blur of the storm full of thoughts and chores and children. The craving for organization- the pull my flesh feels towards preparing and cleaning and painting and creating a home space where I feel more at ease. A place where I feel as though I am the best equipped to provide and care for my ever-growing family. An environment that encourages entertaining company and stimulates creative learning. A restful and joyous home. A place that doesn’t add to the stress of the everyday…
Every year gets easier. This is what I tell myself. On repeat. Daily. I look back to the start of it all and force myself to see how far our family has truly come. But the knowledge of knowing there is no certainty of what the future holds- that yes, a year from now we could be doing quite well… or my husband could be out of work again.
But don’t you see? I tell myself, Your Father in Heaven has provided through these times exactly what you need. Yes, I know. But I want a guarantee. Something in writing, signed, sealed, and tangible- something that reassures me that these comforts will come in time- that the sanity of mind will be restored, and that it will be possible for me to fully care, clean, cook, and be the model of what I want my children to see.
And there it is, in the midst of paragraph and ink- comfort. How much comfort do I need to feel I can be an adequate wife and mother and friend and sister?
I don’t have a guarantee when it comes to materialistic and worldly standards. But the guarantee I do have is so much greater, beyond this world, and it is one in which absolute joy can be found in its absolute.