It is nearing 2:30pm which means that if I continue to sit at this computer, or do the laundry, or find some other meaningless task, I will not get in my afternoon prayer time before kids roll in, and then it will be off in the mini van we go, to our various things that we say the kids love, but really just exhaust us all and make us grumpy.
The afternoon.
It is my tough and challenging time.
I mean, I am the greatest wife ever. When my husband is at work.
And nobody rocks motherhood like me. When the kids are not home.
I start out so darn good too, ya know?
Wake early...find a quiet place...rosary and Gospel reflection.
I am a down right Saint...until about 3:45pm.
And it stinks.
Because when I go to sleep I do not happily recall my beautiful morning prayer time, or the gratitude I felt while watering my garden alone. No. I dwell on the crappy way the day ended.
I have read that the devil comes at night. He strikes when we are most tired. When our fuses are short and the battery low. And I believe this. I do. Because all day yesterday all I wanted was to sit with my husband with the day behind us, and watch The Jim Gaffigan Show, which I might add, is just like watching my own life, minus a kid and with the addition of commercials. But by the time 10pm came around, I was not wanting to see, or hear or look at anyone. Not my husband. Not my kids. Not even Jim Gaffigan.
Somehow, slowly but surely, my grip on God loosens. As the day goes on, my focus widens, and eternal perspective gives in to discouragement.
I have just 40 minutes.
40 minutes before the first bus arrives, and then we begin the marathon otherwise known as an afternoon with kids who need to go to therapy, football, the gym, and need pick ups and drop offs and of course dinner is expected, which if you ask me, is a useless meal and can we please just enjoy some bread, cheese and wine and call it a night?
But I am not talking about dinner.
Afternoon prayer.
It is hard.
Hard to stop the millions of things we all say we must get done.
And yet, when I take the time to really look at the crucifix I can never get myself to take off...
I am disgusted with myself.
What could there possibly be that needs to be done that is more important than spending time with the one who allowed nails to pierce his wrists and feet, all so that I could have a chance at eternal happiness?
Nothing.
I know that.
You know that.
Or maybe you don't know that, but you know it now.
Nothing is more important than spending time with God.
I am going to throw a load of wash in the dryer because it is full of football things needed later today.
But then I promise...
I will find a quiet spot and reach out to God, and pray for the grace to get me through this afternoon.
I want to be a Saint all day...not just from 5am-3:45pm. Unless there is an opening for that role...then I am totally qualified.
But really.
I want to be a good wife and a good mom until my head hits the pillow.
And I know that none of that is possible without Jesus.
Screw the laundry.
God comes first.
