It was a productive day, but truth be told, it was too much.

I sent the baby to daycare so I could get work done for the private practice. Work was piling up – reports, insurance billing, patient billing, finances, a license to renew, paper and envelopes to buy, and data forms to print. I got a lot done while she was away, and my work plate feels a lot lighter than it did this morning.

But tonight was a little frantic.

The kids were loud. 11-year-old was hyper, baby was whiny, and 8-year-old kept singing a song over and over and over again until it became annoying to not only me, but everyone in the household.

I barely whipped together a dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup. Kids were asking for seconds of milk and sandwiches before I even got baby served. And baby ripped her sandwich into pieces, stacking them on top of the tipped over bowl of tomato soup, then put her sippy cup on top and started laughing. There wasn’t a moment, nor enough for me to eat, so I ate later in peace.

Daddy came home. He gave me the look, not once, but twice. This house was loud, and the kids were jazzed. It’s been negative degrees for days, and there’s no getting out. We’re all a little stir crazy to say the least.

I accidentally left a bag of stocking stuffers on the counter, and of course, the kids found it. I quizzed them about what they saw an hour later, and between the two of them, they saw everything except one item. So tonight, after delivering the 8-year-old to gymnastics, I drove to Target, returned everything and started all over again.

I thought the boys planned to bake the Christmas cookies while we were gone at gymnastics, but came home to discover they’d worked out and lounged instead. Let’s just say my grace was lacking when it was 8:20 p.m. on a school night and dad was just starting to bake cookies with the two oldest. I made it clear – “go ahead, but I’ve got to get moving along with all the other stuff I have to get done tonight.”

I got some laundry in the basket and started a load for the girls – they’re both almost out. Picked up clothes strewn on the floor from this morning, semi-nagged my husband to sign up to work concessions at the basketball tournament this weekend, prepared files for tomorrow’s day full of patients, canceled the babysitter for Thursday and found a neighbor to watch instead, responded to my mom’s voice message via text, cleaned the disgusting toilet because the nanny will be here early in the morning, addressed the overdue thank you notes from my son’s birthday party October 19th, and took a shower. All in 40 minutes.

After a cookie or two, the kids were in bed by 9:00. I managed to get in both of their rooms for apologies for a chaotic night, I love yous, and good-night hugs.

Hubs went to bed by 9:50. He’s not happy about turning 40 this week.

And now, it’s just me – alone, in the quiet.

Dishes are piled high in the sink. The counter is greasy and full of crumbles from cookies. I’m feeling not-so-full-of-grace for messes left everywhere. And the wheels are spinning.

This is my life.

This was my life, today.

Where’s Jesus in this?

Where’s Jesus in the mess?

Where’s Jesus in the chaos and confusion?

Where’s Jesus in the mail piled up high?

Where’s Jesus in a world that goes way too fast?

I can’t even think. I can’t keep up.

Is there a way to escape this rat race?

Am I doing it all wrong?

Is there an in-between place of quiet and rush, where I can live not bored, not isolated, but in peace?

Must I move to a deserted island, Lord, to find quiet?

And these dishes, Lord, they’ll still be here in the morning, and it’ll all start all over again. I’ll be going from dawn till dusk and beyond. And then the next day, it’ll all be the same.

My heart races a bit. Tears well in my eyes with the rapid typing of my fingers. Anxiety’s risen to the top from my too-full-day.

Take it slow, He says.

Lean on me.

You’re doing too much.

It’s not up to you.

Your world will never be perfect. Mine will. Mine is.

Step back. Take a breath.

Let yourself cry.

I’m here.

I AM.

Lean not on your own understanding, lean on Me.

Trust not in your ways, trust Mine.

Believe not in what the world says, Believe Me.

I came to save – you. That you might have life.

So live. Breathe. Dance. For me. Because you are free. In Me.

Amy