Hallowing Routines

As a homeschoooling family, we have the luxury of sleeping in.  I don't enjoy this luxury myself anymore for a couple of reasons.  Their names are Gabriel and Verity--middle boy and middle girl.  These two are my early risers.  They are also my noise-maker and talker, respectively.  I like to joke that I make myself rise early to enjoy my five minutes of alone time each day.

There are days I handle this better than others.  Sometimes (often) it just makes me grouchy.  I haven't had my coffee and there's a small boy whisper-screaming at the cat or a small girl wanting to tell me her dream or some other long, drawn-out, complicated type of story.

This morning, I wake up happy and the boy is up and he is singing.  Softly.  Which is unusual and beautiful.  And I don't feel weighed down by exhaustion.

I've come to realize how much energy or the lack of it accounts for my moods.  It's the end of December.  We are all probably burned out by now.  When I am tired for days, weeks, I can feel discouraged and hopeless.  I just have to remind myself that it will pass and when it does be grateful that it has.

I also have to remind myself to slow.  I have a tendency of wanting to take advantage of even the slightest bit of energy and get everything done, make up for the inactivity of my fatigue and do it all but then I wear myself out and it becomes a cycle.  I rush around the house if I don't deliberately make myself relax, slow my stride.  So, I practice paying attention to how the carpet feels beneath my bare feet, the sound of the water running in the sink, entering into whatever mundane task I'm performing.

This morning, I read of hallowing routines.   All of these small things throughout the day.  If I enter in, I could make these offerings.  I can say thank you for the song of the boy, the story of the girl.  I can watch the coffee pour from pot to cup and hallow the washing of dishes if I choose.  I can offer my weakness to God and I can also offer my strength by trusting Him with it.