I'm dragging a little bit today. I slept on the couch in the basement. I wasn't sure I could carry David up the stairs without waking him. (He's SIX now! That's BIG!) So I left my babies sleeping soundly (finally) in the guest bed and stretched out on the couch downstairs. The windows in the basement are small, but they face directly east. So we all woke up at the crack of dawn.
Last year, when I lived in my mom's house, I registered both my children in preschool. It seemed normal to send your four-year-old to preschool. Especially since he was an old hand at preschool by then. But your 18-month-old? Not so much. Who puts their babies in preschool?? Plenty of people, I kept telling myself. Including this here mom who was losing her mind with her husband living overseas. But, on that first day of school, it felt crazy CRAZY to be sending my babies out into the world. I knew it was the right thing for my kids and me (and it was), but I was a little (a lot) panicked that first morning. Suddenly, the world seemed so big and scary, and the wonderful little preschool down the street felt like it was a million miles away.
I decided that morning that I would never send my children out into the world without praying with them first. So we knelt as a little family of three (four minus one) and shared our first morning family prayer. Since then, I have sent my children to school plenty of times without praying together first. But most of the time we manage to gather together for a moment of prayer. Generally, this involves ten minutes of bossing, yelling, and cajoling for two minutes (or two seconds) of prayer. (I am trusting that the equation looks different in the mathematics of heaven.)
But this morning was different. I knelt down and pulled my children to me. I told them we had something important to tell God. I asked them to remember what we had prayed for the night before. They remembered. Safety and protection. They understood that we had some thanking to do. As we thanked our Father in Heaven for keeping us safe, I remembered the words of my prayer and the feelings in my heart the night before. I will not share them here. But I know that this house, my home, is a sacred place.
On the way to school this morning, we surveyed the damage in the neighborhood. Besides the big, beautiful tree our next door neighbor lost, there was nothing more serious than broken branches and crooked rain gutters. We were glad no serious harm came to anyone. And Mary, in her cute little voice, reminded us that Jesus protects our house. David wondered if that meant nothing bad could ever happen. I told them I know our house will protect us. I can't promise that nothing bad will ever happen to our house, but I felt in my heart that I could promise them that our house will protect us. How grateful I am for the blessing of shelter from the storms of life. (I mean that literally and metaphorically.)
P.S. I mentioned before that David was hysterical last night. (As in shaking and shrieking that he didn't want to live with Heavenly Father yet! He wanted to live here in our house!! Not in heaven!!!) My family can laugh. He inherited it from me. I absolutely panicked any time the air raid sirens sounded when my family lived in St. Louis. It usually happened during Oprah (to this day I still associate Oprah with tornadoes) and, in my memory, it always happened when I was home alone with little brothers. My family knows how hysterical I was about tornadoes--and now I'm getting my due with David. I did keep a methodical cool last night. My family would be proud.
P.P.S. I am off the decorate a birthday cake for the best kid in the whole world!! Who is one, two, three, four, five, SIX!
P.P.P.S. Lest my family giggle too much about David's hysterics, I should point out that word on the street (and Facebook and local weather sites) is that a small tornado did indeed touch down a few miles from here. I feel that hysterics were perfectly in order.
P.P.P.P.S. Six!!!
