I remember hearing a story once that made me laugh.
A husband came home to find the house in disarray.
Toys were all over the yard and the driveway.
Toys were strewn all over the floor inside the house as well.

His children were still in their pajamas.
Goldfish crackers and Cheerios were sprinkled everywhere the toddler had walked.
Half filled cups of milk and juice were sitting in what looked to be permanent rings on the table.
The kitchen appeared to be a war zone with evidence that the children made their own lunch.

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There is a word that bothers me.
As an adjective, its meaning is fine.
As an adverb, its meaning perturbs me.
It is used far too often as an adverb.

It is the word, just.
As an adjective, just means: guided by truth, reason, justice, and fairness.
Its second definition is: done or made according to principle; equitable, proper.
Its third definition is: based on right; rightful; lawful.

It is the definition as an adverb that I have trouble with.

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I picked one of the hottest days to go into the attic.
My son, who is a lawyer in Washington, DC, asked me to look for something.
It was something from his childhood that he was wondering if we still had tucked away.
Do you think we gave it away or do we still have them? he asked me in a text message.

I was never the one to throw away old toys but we did give them away.
This son gave away his favorite Playskool garage when he decided he had grown too old for it.
Are you sure? I asked him at the time.
I’m positive, he answered.

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I remember when my children were learning to walk.
They would pull themselves up and sidestep along the sofa or the coffee table.
They were quite mobile as they did their little sideways dance.
It was letting go that was the problem.

I would watch them reach precariously from one piece of furniture to the next.
In the reaching, they could easily tumble and fall.
They did everything in their power to hold on.
Somehow they managed to get where they needed to be with this calculated path.

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This post was originally published in August, 2014.

Ask any mother and she will tell you about the preciousness of a few minutes alone.
Alone just to gather your thoughts.
Alone to grab a shower in peace.
Alone to have a cup of tea and read a paragraph in a book uninterrupted.

Alone does not mean instead of being with her children.
Alone does not mean trading in motherhood for her single life again.
Alone does not mean that she loves her family any less.
Alone simply means stillness in the midst of busyness.

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A young mother spent the days at home with her small children.
Some days were simply delightful.
She played with them, read to them, and trained them.
Some days were difficult and exhausting when nothing seemed to go right.

Remnants of breakfast were on the floor under the high chair.
Jelly was stuck in the two year old’s hair.
As the sun shone through the glass storm door, she could see every hand print.
She could see every nose print and little forehead marks pressed upon the glass.

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There she was in the shopping cart.
A little girl with uneven pigtails on either side of her head.
She was watching her mom and talking to something that was not there.
I couldn’t quite guess her age because she had a pacifier in her mouth.

I was certain that she was holding had a pacifier much like another child has a blanket.
The fact that she could talk with the pacifier in her mouth astounded me.
As I passed her she smiled at me.
As she smiled at me, the pacifier fell out of her mouth.

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In a few days my youngest daughter will be taking her final exams.
When she finishes her exams she will be halfway done college.
It is not possible that the little girl I held in my arms twenty years ago is so grown up.
I’ve had the privilege of watching her grow all these years.

She has been an RA this year for a floor of about forty freshman girls.
She has done an amazing job.
On Thursday nights there is an open invitation for the girls to come to her room to have tea.
Like mother, like daughter since having tea together is a precious time for us.

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There is a place, a holy place that we tend to overlook.
Holy places are often quite ordinary.
Holy places are usually found among the common.
Something is holy simply because God sets it apart.

It was during my own prayer time that I thought about this holy place.
It was as I was praying for each of my children that it came to mind.
It was a place where I sat each night.
It was a place I never really considered holy until it was no longer a part of my daily routine.

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I ran into the ladies room before I continued my shopping.
I had been out for most of the afternoon.
I still had quite a few errands to run before I headed home.
Other women must have had the same idea.

Every stall was occupied except one that was way down at the end.
There is a certain bathroom etiquette.
You may smile at someone as you are both standing at the sink.
You usually do not converse with them.

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