Peeling potatoes, looking out the window,  noticing the robins and squirrels chasing one another in the yard

rinsing the kale for this evening’s dinner

chickpeas are ready

dishes in the sink, baby is asleep, girls are quietly enjoying books and crafts

I have a moment of silence from one part of my creative work for the day… my little ones have learned with me, alongside me.

Numbers, Words, Stories, Histories…

And now in this momentary silence, I begin my next creative work… I prepare a meal for my loved ones.

I cut, I slice, I mash (garlic, of course…), I add spices – my favourite part – like a painter adds hues to her canvas.

I am not a crafty soul.  And sometimes I may get envious of those who are…how did they do that?  or more accurately: How did they find the energy to do that?

(My pinterest account doesn’t even work)

But the truth is this:  I don’t even want to do that.

Right now, in this season of life, there is only so much free space in my brain.

The way I have been designed by Father-God, there is only so much I can do.

And in this season of loving and teaching and training and holding and cuddling and reading and discussing and endless questions and…

I can only do so much.

So I try to create and make art with evening meals we share.  And sometimes, just the right amount of fresh lemon hasn’t made a difference to anyone as I clean up the messes left behind by hungry little hands.

And the art ends up in (hopefully) content bellies.

And I don’t have any evidence of the work, save for dishes and scraps on the floor and stained clothes…

And if I am honest, here is the thing.  There are days when I want more.  Much more than this.

This quiet life of loving and teaching and training and holding and cuddling and reading and discussing and endless questions and

cooking and baking and cleaning it all up again and again…

I want more.  And the ones ahead of me say, enjoy this moment, it goes by so fast, and I know and I do, I promise, I do.

And I know I have so much to be grateful for.  So much precious beauty right there.  I know this.

But there are days.  There are days when I want the art to look different and I want to create more and I don’t want to wait.

And my brain is just full.

And my eyes fill with tears because we just talked about being content and grateful with my little ones and here I am, here I am in this moment wanting more.

And rather than stay stuck, because I know how dangerous staying stuck can be, I do something I have learned – repeatedly over and over and over – I have learned to do this:  I cry out.

I am peeling potatoes and the house is still quiet and tears are streaming down my face and I cry out to the One who created me to create and I say this:  Help.

That’s all.  Help.  Help me see.  Help me be.  Help me be content.  Show me what that looks like.  Again.

Show me what that looks like again.

I thought I had learned this years ago, months ago.  weeks ago.  But here we are again.  And I am chiding myself.

And He is just pleased I cried out.

And His embrace awaits.

And He gathers me up in arms just as I am, discontent or not.

Show me how to be content with where I am with this art with this season with this place, please?

And He will.  Moment by moment, day by day, year by year… He will.

That is His art.

Help.  Me.  See.