Waiting to Inhale {Holy (cow) Week Day 7}

What mom's do while their kids are in quiet time

I used to think that Quiet Time was when a good Christian sat down with a cup of tea and a bible to spend “quality time with God.”  Now that I have children, Quiet Time has taken on all new meaning.  It is the moment in my day when I just cannot take any more; not another game of Candyland, Episode of iCarly, round of  Party in the USA.   It is the crescendo to a chorus of whines, cries, and sibling rivalries that have fried my every last nerve .  It is the apex of a mountain of laundry, pile of dishes, heap of toys — the desperate cry to knock something off the to-do list.  Quiet Time is really  the adult version of Time Out.

I love Quiet Time.  I love pretending that my kids are being rewarded with a full hour of unsupervised fun.  In their bedrooms.  With the doors shut.  When in fact, I am being rewarded with a full hour of mind numbing silence.  Some days I do sit with my Bible and a cup of tea.  Some days I don’t.  Some days I take a nap, or eat for the first time since breakfast (the day before), or pick up the trail of clothing and toys adding to the chaos of my day, some days I just breathe.  I do whatever I need to do, so that when the hour is up,  I feel prepared to face them again.  Ready to sing Dynamite and play Monopoly.

My kids, too, take advantage of quiet time in their own ways.  My son usually builds Legos, hides in his bucket of stuffed animals playing hand-held video games, or looks at his oversized Atlas.  My daughter does less conventional things.  She makes doll clothes out of a box of band-aids, tries to coax the dog into her room so she can put a leotard on him and teach him to cartwheel, or creates a list of demands for her brother to sign . . . in blood . . . in exchange for a penny she found under her bed.

Today is the day that Christ put His followers in quiet time.  His body was in the tomb.  A stone sealed the entrance. All the excitement of miracles and signs had ended abruptly.  Where His words once echoed through the hillsides, their was silence.  Hope was not lost, but despite His promises, it had been forgotten.

I have heard a number of teachers criticize the disciples for their actions in these days.  Jesus spoke of His resurrection on numerous occasions.  Somehow, the disciples missed it or didn’t understand.  Or maybe in the horror and drama of it all, they just lost sight of hope.  Whatever the reason, they weren’t sitting at the face of the tomb waiting for Him to walk out.  While Jesus plunged to depths removing the sting of death and power of hell; they went home, went fishing, they sat in grief.

The eyes of the disciples were not fully opened yet.  So they did the things they knew needed to be done.  They ate and rested, they took time to weep.

Sure, it is easy for me to say they should have been rejoicing in anticipation of His certain return.  I know how the story ends.

But sometimes I don’t.

Sometimes God puts me in Quiet Time.  There are days where I cannot see the miracles, cannot hear His voice, cannot remember His promises.  Hard times when I have no clue the purpose of it all.  I’d like to say that on those days I sit and rejoice; certain that He will never leave nor forsake me, clinging to the hope that He has a plan for me.  Usually, I just fold laundry or find a corner to cry, or make something out of band-aids  I  go about my day, set to the tasks in front of me, the things I know need attention.

I find comfort in the scriptures , that when Jesus rose,  He knew exactly where to find the disciples.   By doing the things they knew, they were in the perfect place for Christ to reveal Himself.  He met them there — performing new miracles and giving them new purpose.

Do not be discouraged in the quiet times of life.  Sometimes God does His greatest work while we do the dishes.