The dawn greeted us with the misty cool of fog, no shimmer of sunshine trying to peek through. I don't mind this kind of day - hopes of special times of reading together all snug on the couch after schoolwork is done. Hopes of warm cups of tea while I fold and sort laundry. Perhaps an extra moment to work on my latest project. Drippy days hold many hopes and possibilities.
My husband called during the morning's memory work recitations. "I'm not feelin' to well," was his greeting. I could tell - he needn't say more. I prayed with him for stamina to finish his work, for the Lord's mercy to steer him home.
We pressed on with schoolwork and I sent up arrow prayers for him. I sent up a barrage of arrows for my own strength and peace and joy, even in this unexpected, un-hoped for event.
I heard his car pull in - Rachel and I kept reading the words. I heard the back door softly open and close and his steps were slow, weary. Rachel finished her words, collected her things, sent a "Hi, Daddy" with twinkling eyes, and trotted upstairs. He gave me a tired smile, asked for the heating pad, pulled on an extra sweater, and climbed into bed. Ask I draped an extra blanket over his sleeping form, I couldn't help but be thankful that the Lord had granted me peace and care at a time when I could have been frustrated.
How many times have I come to the end of the day and prayed for "reinforcements" to arrive? My reinforcement came early, but he needed reinforcing himself. As his "ezer" I am commanded to be a burden bearer with my husband. This was a moment when he was the burden and God, by his great grace-filled hand, gave me compassion and - well - joy, in reinforcing and bearing up my husband.
Children still needed bathed, backpacks needed to be readied for co-op, my tutoring bag needed loaded up, lunches had to be made, and supper prepared. It was already 4:30. And yet peace and unexpected joy remained.
At 5:00, backpacks were hanging up, ready to go. My bag was in the van, packed and ready. Two of five were showered. Chicken noodle soup simmered on the stove as the bread was sliced to make sandwiches for the next day. He snored softly, beating back illness with rest.
Holding loosely my hopes and desires for the day, opened the way for greater joy, greater peace, greater thankfulness. HE does more than we can ever ask or imagine.
My children recited poetry to me, complete with actions and drama. The cup of tea was sipped as Anna confessed a struggle with envy and I was able to share with her about God's good gifts that fill us up to overflow; his variance of gifts, allowing us no chance of becoming bored.
I could not have planned a more plentiful, fog-laden, chilly-wet day. HE knows the plans HE has for me. Plans not formed to harm me, but to give me hope and a future.
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