This struck me in my reading this morning, because I know what I spend most of my days looking for: mess, bad attitudes (besides mine) to snuff out, the lack of time to myself, the evidence of the inconvenience of these little years with children. I have grown accustomed to hunting for this. My eyes and soul are sluggish to recognizing joy, heavy with weariness, out of the practice of daily thanksgiving.
Oh Lord, come rub your healing balm on my eyes. Soften this sharp edged, prickly heart with the oil of your Holy Spirit. In my weariness, be my strength. In the day to day mundane of meals, dishes, laundry, stinky diapers, bickering children, dog hair, thirsty gardens, rumpled beds, grimy mirrors, empty refrigerators, sticky floors, crusty cars, and chaos of six souls living on top of one another, Oh Lord come, meet me here in this.
When I want to wallow and sink in frustration, pull me up, set my feet in a broad place with firm footing. Fill my mouth with grace, for myself and those around me. Make my hands gentle as they fix my daughter’s hair for the fifth time before lunch, and button up one more superhero suit, or wipe remnants of food from the baby. Make my speech soft. You didn't have to shout to penetrate hearts. Train my eyes again to “see” moments of thanksgiving, and joy that you tuck into each day, like seashells, morel mushrooms, or wildflowers. There is beauty everywhere and life abundant, even for me, in this place, in this season of life, in this day.