Fridays

Fridays are my sweet days. 

We run around like crazy, early, and get three girls one way to the Friday Program in downtown Jackson, and little man the other to the Weekday Preschool near Matt's work. Lunchboxes? Water bottles? Uniforms? Homework? Shoes? Breakfast? 

Mama drives them in my pajamas with a cup of coffee shoved into the cup holder, and as soon as I drop them, Morgan's dropping them, too, and she calls for our weekly check-in catch-up.

As soon as I get home I put on worship music, start the first of many loads of laundry, get all the chairs up off the floor and start my Friday Clean.

For a few hours, the toilets are blue. For an hour, maybe two, there are NO fingerprints on any of my windows.  For a fleeting moment, all the laundry is caught up, all the bathmats are drying, all the counters are clean, all the clutter is gone. All the toys, in their homes, a week of homeschool all refiled, a new week of meals are planned and for a moment, just a moment, the floor are all vacuumed and all mopped, and cringe though I may by Wednesday, they will not be spotless again until next Friday. The guest room gets clean sheets and towels and vacuumed and is ready for whomever may come this week. I eat my favorite lunch as I work (a chopped up, roasted sweet potato with cinnamon and salt), reheat my cup of coffee three or four times, and sometimes catch up with my dad or sister or a long-lost friend on speaker while I mop.

Better yet, it is the one quiet morning, from 8:30 until 1:30, full of mindless, uninterrupted work that allows me to pray.  I pray for so many of you during that time. I pray for my dad as he does his Friday chemos, I pray for my brother, imagining the Lord right behind him, I pray for my sister and her gaggle of precious girls. I pray through our whole gamut of Haiti, from Granny to Gertha to Leme and Claudin, to all of their children, from Emmaus to missionaries still there, from students to politics. 

I pray for my dear friend gasping for air in her life and marriage, for all the requests and burdens from Tuesday night small group, for each of our children, for Matt carrying such a heavy load. I'm praying for our neighbors, most of whom have lived long full lives and find themselves now living alone. I'm praying for you fellow mamas, day-in-day-out doing all that mundane, precious, priceless work. I'm praying for your grown children, far from him, for spouses for a few I hold dear, for children for a few and healing for many. 

I pray through friends and family as I fold and fold and sort piles of clothes, sorting through piles of prayers and reminding Him of all these dear ones, not because He has forgotten one very ounce, but simply because I love them, and can't do anything sweeter or more impactful than lift them up to Him.

I never get it all done (except the rare weeks when Aunt Sharon is here and she tag-teams me!)--at 1:30 I rush out to get Ben, sometimes still in my pajamas and bleach stains, then on the girls, bringing them all home with the same Friday request: When we get home, I'm not quite done, so put all your school things away and don't. touch. anything.

That never happens :). But by the time dad's home from work, he can still see the labors of love, and can breath his weekly, it is SO nice to come home to a clean house!

Throughout the week when I am tempted to feel overwhelmed by the many chores, I can remind myself: be present. That will be taken care of on Friday.

Throughout the week when I offer up scattered and urgent and heartfelt mini prayers, I remind myself: He is with you and knows. You can dwell with Him on it Friday.

I love all our crazy days full of laughter and tears and sticky fingers and crumb-floors. But I'm so thankful for Friday, and for a God who meets me on spotted floors and scrubbing knees.