For years I have never had much natural light streaming into my kitchen. It's been a dream of mine to be able to wash dishes and look out a window.
It's 4:30 and I'm busily fixing conflicts, helping calm down "all the feelings" children, while madly trying to get dinner on the table by 5:30 latest. It doesn't always happen.
There are those moments when I'm given the gift of the still small voice of God in that bewitching hour. You know them right? Where all girls are playing contentedly, and you stand at the kitchen counter cutting/preparing the vegetables for the night's supper.
There is this verse, which says, "Pray without ceasing." I often wondered what it looked like.
It's in the suds eating away grime.
It's in the knife gliding like a stone being skipped across the morning lake.
It's in the repetitive motion of sorting, folding and putting away of laundry.
It's in the embrace of your child as you thank God for your safe moment, while praying for the mamas rocking their cold babes.
Without ceasing. Idle hands are far from these.
My garden is overgrown, weeds intermingling, taunting me.
Plot by plot, sod clinging in clumps barely making a dent.
It's there where God reveals himself.
It's there where the praying without ceasing is work, is worship.
Making space in my heart in these moments feels like swimming against a current. Everything in me wants to give in and float downstream, no matter the repercussions. But, when I fight for it, it's where I hear God. It's where I find more of myself, and know more of myself.
So, I say yes to the dishes. It might just be the undoing to the Spirit of God in my life.