how to find home

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays I sing to boys at bedtime. My hands, roughened by dish water and calloused from yard work, rub backs and run through locks of blond hair. Hymns of praise and lullabies drift from my lips and hover in the night air like the lightning bugs that flitter around in the yard. As I sing I remember when these big boys were small enough to fit in my hands.

It is easy to forget the early days. Toilsome nights of feedings, long days of teething, and afternoons spent distracting fussy toddlers from their own exhaustion all fade away as boys learn to pour cereal, tie shoes, and read their own books.

But this quiet, nighttime wooing of their hearts remains. They all want their own song, their own prayer, their own moment with mama.

There are nights that I just want the day to be over. Tired mamas who still face dishes and laundry and emails and blog posts would sometimes like to say a quick goodnight and get on with it.

But not on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. On those nights it is love that is most important. Our hearts are called back again by the mysterious and holy connection of mother to child and child to mother. We are all four reminded of the deep and soulful love that seems tangible and all-important in this quiet moment.

From the first glimpse of those little babies in the womb I was smitten. How does my heart forget that feeling when homework, piano practice, and fights over silly toys fill our afternoons?

Every mama has had to be Martha and get dinner on the table, clothes in the drawers, and chaos tamed by some sort of order. If we don’t schedule our Mary moments we will miss out on choosing the best part of life.

The next day I think of last night’s blissful songs and prayers and goodnight kisses, and the words to another song joyfully cartwheel through my mind. It’s as if God is singing to me and about me in my heart:

I stand stunned as I realize that every song I sing to those sweet boys; every loving gaze I intentionally lay on their brows; every good night prayer and kiss I offer; they all bring me another step closer to them, God, and that feeling of home.

There is a plaque by my door that says “home is where your mom is”, but I think “home is where love is chosen” is beginning to prove more true.

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays I choose what is better, and it is I who am made better by treasuring my moments with my children as God continues to lead me home.