My boys were sick last weekend. First Ezra, on Saturday morning and then Isaac through Saturday night and on Sunday (and randomly on Monday night… at the top of McDonald’s play place…). I hate when my children are sick but I feel so connected to them as their mother as I care for them during such a vulnerable time of need. Cleaning up their germy mess, holding them close to make them feel better, and sometimes even sleeping with them (like I did on Saturday with Isaac since he’s too young to have any control when he’s sick) — it’s all a risk to my own health and yet I do it for them — because I’m their mom. They are sick and vulnerable and needing someone and I get to be that person for them.
I can’t help but think about how God loves us so much that he came down from Heaven into our sinful mess and cleaned us up. He touched the lepers, he dined with “sinners” (aren’t we all?”). God sacrificed his Son for us — because he’s our dad.
I’m learning a lot right now about the normal stuff, the sacred mundane, the extraordinary in the ordinary. I’m learning how fighting back against the waves of messes, the mountains of dishes and laundry, breaking up of fights and diffusing arguments, taking care of my little ones when they are sick and when they are healthy… This is the holy work I’ve been given and I forget that almost every day.
I’m praying that I’ll start to remember that these moments are holy, and that I won’t grumble and complain about the work that God has given me, the very work I asked for… And to be thankful for every moment. Even if that means climbing to the very top of the McDonald’s playplace in front of everyone to retrieve my sick little one, pull him close to me and slide down together.