It was a long, heavy week, the kind of week you survive by allowing the laundry piles to spill onto the floor, the dust bunnies to remain untouched.
On Saturday, we woke up to the laundry piles and the dust bunnies, to children who once again needed to eat and be entertained. CJ and I snapped at each other, tired and frustrated, burdened with the responsibility of it all.
But somehow, some way, grace broke in. We ate chocolate chip pancakes. We listened to our little girl giggle with one of her good buddies. We invited friends over for a spontaneous lunch, and all four kids played quietly for fifteen blessed minutes. Other friends made us dinner and brought it over, allergy-free dessert and all. It was a sweet day, and we went to bed feeling gratitude for the palpable fullness of it.
And then there was Sunday and Monday and Tuesday - days marked by the deep suffering of another good friend, by a fussy baby and a napless toddler, by my vain efforts to keep up with the piles and the dust bunnies.
At one point in my life, I would have gotten stuck here, frustrated by these very real days, certain that I was entitled to a week's worth of Saturdays.
But I think motherhood has taught me a particular gratitude for the sweet moments - for the little miracles of both kids sleeping in until 7:45, of children playing in peace, of conversations (and friendships) sustained in the chaos.
Life is hard. It just is. Sometimes, it's unbelievably, unbearably hard. Often, it's simply exhausting.
But every now and then, in the laughter of children, in the swirling leaves of a perfect fall afternoon, in the companionship of seasoned friends, we get a little taste of what we were made for.
And when those precious, holy moments come, I am learning, we don't grab on tight and try to figure out how to recreate them. We hold them loosely, and we simply whisper, Thank You.