Words are flying out of her little mouth and I’m at the sink, up to my elbows in suds and up to my ears in me.
“Whisper to you, please,” she says over and over again, but I’m not hearing her.
I am lost in the murky sea of me and ministry and dishes that never end.
My hands move plates and saucers and bowls and one slips through my fingers.
In an instant, I’m all in.
I hear my baby’s small voice and I watch my bowl hit the sink. Her little hands wrap around my leg and I feel her head rest on my thigh. Without taking my eyes off of the broken bowl, I know her index finger has found it’s way into her mouth and she is waiting.
I pick up the broken bowl and set it on the counter. That makes the third dish I have dropped in three weeks.
I wipe my hands and pick her up, this last baby of mine. We sit on the porch swing and she whispers words that I can’t make out and I feel her breath on my face.
For a long, good moment, I forget me and the ministry and the tape playing lies in repeat in my head.
I feel her reach up to whisper again and I lean down to hear every word. Her lips tickle my ear and I am giddy with the sheer joy of the moment.
We swing and bits of Psalm 30 hit me in the face with gentle force. Those words I read last week, return to remind me of the Truth.
To Thee, O LORD I called.
And to the Lord I made supplication:
“What profit is there in my blood, if I go down to the pit?
Will the dust praise Thee? Will it declare Thy faithfulness?
“Hear. O LORD, and be gracious to me;
O LORD, be Thou my helper.”
Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing;
Thou hast loosed my sackcloth and girded me with gladness;
That my soul may sing praise to Thee, and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give thanks to Thee forever.
May I learn to always listen to Truth and to give thanks forever.