Most of the time I don’t ask for much more than survival. Give me this day my breath, my brushed teeth, my potty brake in silence. I’ve been rolling out of  bed with my spirit gasping for time, for relationship, and for an affirmative in the presence of God. 

I’ve been taking a wash cloth to yesterday’s mascara and stepping into the hard-working noise of habit. In the whirl of toddler-motherhood, it takes an intentionality that I’ve rarely pursued to not cling to the laws I’ve made for matter, time, space, and sound – to consider the Spirit behind the work I have to do.

I have been too busy to hear God, to tend to that burning bush, when there is no trick to hearing Him except to believe and find a quietness of spirit.

Hands still swipe the inner rim of the toilet. Oatmeal still ends up in our pot of beans. Husbands still get home late from work.

And I have to remember the candle burning in the sanctuary.

If I am in a season of no retreat, and the front has to be strong and endless, then I must find Humility in being lowly enough for a stillness before my Heart-King, a bowed down reverence, my naked spirit-feet warming on a throne-room floor.