Mornings are tough. Every night when my head hits the pillow I vow that tomorrow morning I'm going to crawl out of bed 20 minutes earlier so that maybe tomorrow I won't be running around stressed out beyond repair. But every morning is the same song and dance.
I attempt to get up early, but my sleep-deprived self just can't seem to get it together. I rush around the house telling everyone that we're leaving in 5 minutes at least 50 times before we actually get out the door, only to get to daycare drop off having forgotten something at home. After drop off I take a deep breath and vow that tomorrow morning I'm going to try and get up 30 MINUTES earlier to avoid this chaos. I'm exhausted within the first 90 minutes of my day.
Not only am I exhausted before I've even started my day, I also wonder if I am even present with my kids in the morning. Was I too busy arguing over what dress my daughter was going to wear to tell her that she looks beautiful today? Was I too harsh when I asked my son to put his shoes on for the 20th time? Was I too concerned about getting breakfast into both kids to hear that they didn't even want the eggs I cooked? Did I fail to notice that my son just wanted to tell me about his new toy? Did I even answer him when he asked me what my favorite color is? Or did he have to ask Alexa that instead? After all, Amazon's genius product is always listening and always responds.
The morning "rush around," "kerfuffle," "cluster," or whatever you want to call it, is stressful to say the least and leaves me wondering "what the heck just happened?!?!" Still, when we get in the car I do try and engage the kids in the short ride to daycare. I usually ask them what they're going to do at school today. I usually get the same answers. My son is going to play on the computer, and my daughter is going to play with blocks. Classic Rivenbark morning routine.
One morning after the rush to the car we were sitting in silence driving to daycare. I could feel the stress in my neck and wasn't particularly talkative or interested in engaging with the kids today. I had woken them from a dead sleep to start the morning shuffle... er... kerfuffle... I hadn't had my coffee yet. Honestly, I didn't think they missed telling me they planned to play on the computer or play with blocks.
My son was looking out the car window at the sky. The sun was out, but I hadn't really taken notice. He held his gaze on the sky and said to me just as calm and steady as could be, "What a great day Mama."
I took a beat to notice the sky. It was still pink and orange through the clouds. It actually was a really beautiful morning. "You know what Gardner?" I said back to him. "It really is a great day."
I knew instantly that God used my son that morning to speak to me. He needed me to know that the chaos may ensue, that I may be exhausted beyond belief, but that everyday was a good day and I needed to make the best of it.
It reminded me of Psalms 118:24 - "This is the day the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it."
Every morning since then I still rush around, I often get flustered, but in the back of my mind I think, "What a great day."