The Sunday morning rush starts early at our house. Breakfast and giggles and whining and running away while I chase them with tights and hair bows. Iron the dresses. Why? They get wrinkled in the car seats. Ugh. Do it anyway. Nurse the baby, brush all their teeth. Where is the hair brush? Did everyone potty? Did I brush my hair? Is the curling iron unplugged? We have to leave in two minutes. Leave my coffee untouched on the kitchen table. Clamor into the car with the diaper bag and sippy cup and baby shoes. Sing and chatter and squabble in the car. “Keep your hands to yourself.” “What is Bonnie holding?” “No you can’t go to the playground when we get there.” Get to church. Did anyone keep their shoes on in the car. Who took their bow out? What seat is it between? Please be donuts inside so we don’t have meltdowns. The donuts were my bribe all morning. Grab donuts. Get juice. And water. Juggle the baby. Put baby shoes on. Say hello. Corral the girls. Collect trash. Where did I put my bag down? Wipe sticky hands and faces. Herd everyone to the nursery. They can go up the stairs all by themselves. Drop off. Sneak into church. Always late. Flash Jordan - sitting at the piano - the “we made it” smile and sigh. Try to quiet my frazzled brain to focus on the message.
Last year, for the first time, I chose a word of the year. In 2018 I chose grace. And it carried me through a year of joy and sorrow. I went back to grace all throughout the year. Studying it, sitting with it, accepting it, giving it. Being kind of saved by it. Over and over.
So this year? My word has big shoes to fill. Last year changed me forever, and grace was just what my heart needed. I don’t know what this new year will bring. But I hope this word, this mantra, this prayer that I choose now will serve my heart during this new year.