There’s a lull and it will be so for maybe 15 minutes if I am lucky. All I can hear is the drip-drip-drip from the kitchen faucet (on the list of fixes to do) and most of the children are playing outside while the sweet potatoes are roasting in the oven. Baby is finally sleeping and my left forearm and elbow are grateful for the break.
Hours ago I had a mind to do some writing. Hours ago I had a desire to watercolor in my journal. Instead I did the work of rocking, rocking, rocking while the rest of my family napped and played. My mood became gray, my lids heavy, but still I rocked.
Was this the important work? Just back and forth, back and forth?
The crockpot simmered. I eyed the herb books on my desk, various sticky notes and scraps of paper sticking out on all edges, waiting for more study. I noticed the green and plastic Easter grass trailing off the piano, the upside down laundry basket on the floor, the sofa pillows strewn. Still I rocked.
I managed to cradle a phone call to my mother while wrangling the fussy baby, and after finally putting the baby down to nap, decided to spill this out of my fingers.
But now my Ruby is screaming. Baby is already waking. Children have questions (six–no, seven–in the time I wrote this) and the woodstove needs stoking. I will leave now to tend to them all, finish and serve supper, and then eventually fall into bed.
I will read the psalms by flashlight, and I will know His peace, His heart, His comfort. He will not chide, shame or scold me, even for my gray mood. And because Jesus did His important work, I can continue to do mine. Mine involves rocking.
What’s your important work?