I didn’t do a lot of things today.
The tea on the counter is supposed to be brewed, cooled down, and mixed with milk for my daughter. It’s not medicinal but it is organic, and it helps her stomach feel better. I’ve been meaning to do it for weeks (maybe months).
Crafts from preschool are piling up, and both my daughters are ransacking them often because they are within reach. I haven’t set out crafts, worried the glue will end up in my vents or on the toilet seat.
I’ve been meaning to cancel appointments that need to be moved due to schedule changes. I worked so hard to get everything set up to make those appointments, so I am struggling to find the time and energy and motivation to call and cancel them. I also seem to always forget when the office is open and not closed for lunch.
The bathing suits are tight on the girls, and I need to buy new ones. The bags from last week’s trip are still chock-full and sitting by my door waiting to be tripped over. I have six library books on hold from the library to pick up. And the meat I set out to thaw will turn into another organism if I don’t cook it, like, now.
These and other things float through my brain like the ticking of the clock from Peter Pan. Sometimes I feel like I am in the throat of a crocodile too. The day starts over each morning, but our bodies continue to need more and more things. It’s a clock that never stops.
I didn’t do things today. I admit that. But what did I do? My daughter’s hair with her curls slightly damp from bathtime. She asked for it to be “wild and free,” so I left just one small hairband at the tippy top, the rest shaken out and bouncing.
I read both my kids one Bible story while they clambered around my body and legs on the couch. We pretended to shout like the army at Jericho, and we watched the walls go tumbling down. We prayed over dinner. (We didn’t pray over lunch.) We painted messy messy in the hallway on blank white paper.
Our bodies sprawled across a picnic blanket while we munched on chicken-flavored crackers and watermelon at the park. One daughter spit out the seeds. The other daughter swallowed them without blinking.
I tickled bellies and let my oldest take photos with my camera. I taught the younger one how to hold the phone and simultaneously press the white shutter button. She did great on her first try!
My mouth kissed, even though there are always germs. My arms held and ached and held some more. I told my girls I loved them. I told my girls God made this beautiful day. I thanked God for my family, these moments, this life, this blessed never-ending life.
Every day, there are things we do, and things we don’t do. With each choice, we are able to see what we truly value. Annie Dillard says in her book The Writing Life, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing.”
Some things get done, and some things don’t get done. I am called to love those in front of me. I can’t regret my choices of the day when I have done the most important thing. And even when I mess up and feel I don’t love well, I thank God when another tomorrow comes, and I get the chance to show up again.
Again and again, we live. Again and again, we love. Again and again, God’s grace extends to cover us all.
by Shelbie Farmer 
by Shannon Evans 
