I struggle so much to experience God in the midst of my everyday life. I have plenty of times through the week when I pull away, when I am able to commune and catch a moment of elusive eternity. And when you have tasted it, you only want more.
But then, there you are, two kids in the tub with fun foam run amok (because it's the only way they'll bathe without screeching, and you're down to pretty much a once a week bath as it is). Dinner is bubbling on the stovetop thanks to the Chef (Boyardee, that is) and while you're trying to frantically pick out clothes for the next day, all you can think is "Hurry! Go stir!" You can pretty much hear the faux pasta adhering to the pot as you walk. Pasta is stirred, eye turned to low, and a storm is brewing in the bathroom. As you run up the stairs, your body protests, begging you, "Please, just sleep!" Oh body! How I wish I could oblige. The naked, shivering babes are rescued from the tub. The lotion is stuck in its bottle, so you shake, hard, and lotion is all over your worn out jeans, and all you can think is, "Well, at least it's not on the carpet..." You use the lotion from your jeans, because, what else would you do with it? The babes are clean and pj'ed and sitting at the table. You feel guilty it's not something fancier and then laugh because they love it.
After dinner you walk by the mirror in the bathroom. Every inch of your person has some sort of evidence of a hard day-crumbs on the shoulder, pasta sauce on the shirt, and, yes, lotion on the jeans. Your eyes are tired, your hair is a mess, you can visibly see the muscles in your shoulders all hunched up and ready to jump from your skin. Who is this woman? A woman? When, exactly, did that happen?
And you pause, and you think about Sunday, so far away, when you felt Him, right there, arm around your waist. When joy welled up and peace rushed over. How do I find Him when slowing down is so out of reach? He is here. He promises so. And I am living my own eternity. I want to believe it. Father, help my unbelief.