Boring

My life is boring. Every day is more-or-less the same. I get up, make food, clean, do schoolwork with the kids, rest (sometimes), exercise, clean, cook, put everyone to bed and maybe have some time to myself in the evening. Tonight I am so incredibly thankful for my boring life. Mundane. The same.

I look at my five kids bounding all over my house, laughing and playing. Just about on the verge of fighting, but toeing that line. Five parts of my heart around me all the time. I get annoyed by them. Their constant yelling and me having to play referee. But then, like tonight, I just soak up the beauty of the boringness of my life. Mundane. The same.

Tonight I am so grateful that I have kids to be annoyed by, and messes to clean up. Every bedroom in my house is full with people and their things. No empty beds, no perfectly neat rooms because nobody lives in them. This house is lived in. And that's the most wonderful thing of which I can think.

Because tonight there's someone who has one less child to tuck into bed. Someone out there has one fewer hug to receive. That child went home to Jesus. And I'm selfish, I'm not ready to give my kids back to Jesus.

It'll happen someday. Maybe I'll go first, or my husband. There will be pain and crisis, a symptom of the world being no what it should. But for now, I'm satisfied in my boring, quiet, predictable life; and the little souls for whom I get to care.