It's happened again.
I've let busy get the best of me -- literally. Busyness has found its way back inside our life and has been getting my best again. It's been getting the best of what I have to offer my children, my husband, my Heavenly Father.
We awoke rushed.
We rushed out of bed.
Rushed to get breakfast.
Rushed to get dressed.
Rushed to be ready for our play date and then rushed to make it to a phone-call meeting I had gotten roped into having on an at-home day.
And you know what happens when your actions are rushed, right? Words follow suit ever so closely.
Instead of asking nicely, you demand.
Instead of gently teaching, you bark orders.
Instead of redirecting, you force.
Instead of understanding, you snap.
It's never pretty when I find myself in the thick of the thistles and thorns of busyness and rushing.
My two and half year old was dragging his feet on washing his hands as I scurried to get lunch on the table.
I demanded he washed his hands.
He ignored me.
I barked at him to wash his hands.
He ever-so-slowly wandered over toward the sink.
Impatience overtook my body, in true rushed spirit, and I forced him to wash him hands by picking him up and plopping him on a chair in front of the sink.
He merely let a few drops of water drip over his fingers.
"WASH YOUR HANDS OR NO LUNCH!" I yelled, clearly exasperated.
So he washed his hands. Finally. Of course, as I hurried to get his lunch before my call, he climbed into his chair and waited.
When I sat down next to him to inhale something quickly, he took a big bite of his ham and cheese.
"I love ham and cheese, mama," he said. "Thank you for my lunch."
Right there (and now as I type) my heart exploded with love for my little guy as it simultaneously broke for him and for me and for my husband and for my Heavenly Father. Because right there, in the midst of busyness, rushing, craziness, I saw splendid beauty. I recognized simple contentedness and heartfelt gratitude. I saw love in his little eyes and subsequent forgiveness, though, I didn't deserve it.
I reached out, touched his sweet little face and thanked him for reminding mommy to be kind. And to slow down. And to be blissfully content and so grateful for the simple but oh-so-important things.
Right there, over ham and cheese while we were seated at a cluttered dining room table, I found the best of me brought out by the best of him.
And this time, I'm clutching, clinging to it. Because the busyness doesn't deserve to ever deserve to get the best of me again.
But he sure does.