The girls they help with joy as we giggle over dishes and knowing where they go when clean and dirty.
The baby (who’s not so much a baby) stands tall in the kitchen hands over his head as he practices his new trick.
The dishes are loaded up and they ask for scissors and paper and scamper off.
Sedryn he’s squealing with his typical bottomless pit evening hunger.
Sheets half sewn into bible costumes lay all over the middle floor of the house (including my kitchen).
5 or 6 blog posts sit half written in my queue waiting for a moment to finish.
I wonder why I can’t finish anything.
But early childhood is so demanding, so all consuming. These little souls enfleshed are the bulk of my calling. Not writing, not photography, not the 6 ladies who studied with me on Tuesday, not my MOPS table, not my Shepherding group. The mess, the continual interruption of my to-do list is my calling. Is grace to my soul and theirs.
Now excuse me, as I pull the baby (now stuck) from under a picnic table….