My little Hope has been ill with croup and pneumonia. She also has asthma that flares at the least little sniffle, and last week she was one sick puppy. Fighting for air; hurting every time she took a breath.
I was sad she was sick, but overjoyed at the excuse to take off from work and spend days at home, just me and my girl. It’s been a year since I went back to work, and I enjoy my job. But I still struggle (suspect I always will) with balancing work and home. When the day is done, that outbound train can’t chug fast enough – all I want is to see them, hug them, care for them, make sure all is well.
Busy tricks me – the busier I am, the more valuable I am. Or so I think. Sometimes in all the running, I wonder why I’m running from me?
Hope’s illness forced me to slow down, and the days to be still were good medicine.
“Be still and know that I am God…” Psalm 46:10
We laid on the couch and watched four Strawberry Shortcake episodes. Twice. We read books, colored and played music. I folded *and put away* laundry. I prayed in the closet. I made soup, administered meds and nebulizer treatments around the clock. I kissed her warm head every hour and savored every long minute. She let me baby her, and I love mothering her – hands down the best feeling, the best job I’ve ever had.
It just felt so good to be home. Doing the small, mundane, not-so-glorious things that I know have lasting significance. I’m a decent cook and a horrible housekeeper, but I get to spend my life serving my family, and that is an unbelievable gift.
“Mommy, what color do you get when you mix black and white?”
It’s a question she asks almost daily – one day it’s what color do you get when you mix red and blue, another day it’s green and yellow, next it’s purple and orange. We’ve learned to answer the question in our sleep.
Later she presents me with a picture she’s made of herself.
“Nice, Hope. But why are you gray?”
She smiles sweetly, “Because you’re black, as they call it. And Daddy’s white.”
“As they call it??”
“And so… I’m gray!”
Oh my goodness, this kid.
“Har har har.”
Thank you, Lord, she is well.
We hang her picture, and I wish you could hear her laugh.