Sweet scents flow from the dingy old oven,
the unmistakable smell of baking bread changing it into a
miracle worker instead of an outdated appliance.
Beautiful music plays softly and I can't help but breath deep,
in awe of this momentary overwhelming of my senses...
The running about of little feet is constant...
through the kitchen, down the hall, out the backdoor, back inside.
and I know this serene sensation cannot last forever,
but for right now,
it is perfection.
And then it comes;
the piercing scream outside,
the two children crying with all they have in them,
thinking if they cry louder, they will look the unsuspecting victim,
their sibling the culprit,
the noise grows,
and they are almost here,
footsteps pounding up the back steps,
on the porch...
A quick prayer leaves my lips,
"Oh Lord, give me wisdom on how to deal with this situation.
Help my words to be gentle, my actions to be filled with love."
In they tromp, loud and angry.
Before I even open my mouth,
one child's yelling subsists, the other's sobbing turns to quiet cries.
I try not to display my shock, while I wonder at the cause for this almost immediate display of self-control.
heartache showing through her enormous brown eyes,
answers my question with her own,
" Mmm... mama, what's baking?"
Artist child adds, "It smells so good in here."
I whisper words they love to hear,
opening their pallets to the possibility of delight and immense satisfaction,
telling them I have a few loaves of bread just about ready to come out of the oven.
All chaos completely subsides,
that peace silently crawling back into our house,
they ask if they can have a warm piece with butter.
I take a moment to answer,
my mama disciplinarian self remembering
they were just in the middle of a fight, yet to be dealt with.
Should I deal with it first?
Should I discipline them by not allowing them to have the warm, sweet, fresh from the oven bread?
"Oh Lord, give me wisdom..."
And there it is,
breathing down my neck,
whispering in my ear, songs of a perfect melody,
telling me how to love, how to feed, how to grow.
I need to move on...
feed their stomachs and their souls with a piece of bread,
hug them tightly,
mention nothing of past wrongs.
Somehow I know it will work itself out.
Bread comes out of the oven, we slice it, butter it, sit at the candlelit table and eat.
I'm quiet as I look at these two beauties.
Young brown eyed bookworm softly breaks the silence. "Josiah, I'm sorry for bossing you around."
Artist child responds, "Sorry for pushing you sissy."
Eating of sweet bread continues, silence lingers and peace reigns.
I smile and say nothing, remembering the perfect melody.
All forgotten, we eat a few more slices of bread, then pull out a game to play.
As we play and laugh,
I think how, left to my own ways,
these two would probably be sitting alone on their beds right now,
still upset, still angry.
So much better than my self-directed, blurry visioned, hasty own ways,
is God's wisdom,
and because of it,
here we sat together,
enjoying each other,
the two of them having fixed things on their own.
Thank you Lord for your wisdom and patience. Thank you for helping me not to parent in my own "wisdom". Thank you for bread to bake.
This is an edited repost,linking with ann today...