A Family's Hidden Ministry

The sweet moments in life come within a short distance and, upon approach, are deflected. A protection of sorts, I guess. Although not an evolutionist, I often ponder the survival mechanisms that force this exhausted body to propel forward. As a means of compensating the energy spent, the heart and soul of living closes the door to those usually welcomed emotions of love and compassion. A heart is hardened.

He attempts to rub my shoulder, and she reaches for my back pocket; little efforts seeking reciprocity, my attention. They must not understand that the driving fuel within me is empty, and I am on my knees trying to push onward to recharge. I sigh and bite my tongue. Seconds slip by, as well as a testament to a valid list of excuses.

It is not by choice, I am assuming. Arguments containing rhetoric, the Enemy, fatigue, and bodily defenses distract me. I neglect the truth. Dare I treat my family as the heat that is causing me to shrivel and retreat?

A window separates me from a Southern sunset and warm breeze. From my perspective on the bed, I can only catch its beautiful effects on the dusk embraced evening. With sixteen breaths per minute, I attempt to open the pores of this heart to soak it in. Admittedly, ten minutes prior, realization of my erroneous state came to light. The quiet moment initiates a desire to pray, the first humble prayer not spoken in bitter anger or frustration in weeks.

No, it must not be Lord.

He lovingly responds to the forfeiture of the perceived power I held on my heart. And so the Holy Spirit reveals: this family is the water that nourishes, not the scorching heat that withers this sorry rose. He ministers to me through my children as they reach eagerly for their mother's gaze; He ministers to me through my husband, who softly touches my shoulder with an understanding hand as I let the pasta water boil over onto the stove. He ministers to me in sweet, hidden ways. Thankfully, my family is willing; they accept His advances as the Holy Spirit works in them to work through me.

It wasn't the sunset, it wasn't the frustration, it wasn't a theological knowledge of the founding principles of marriage or family. It is a Father, who with persistent patience, waits for His daughter and promises, "Knock, dear one, and I will open the door for you. Seek and you will find me." He illuminates the selfish sins, the elusive excuses, and the hurtful responses.

He works to heal, to teach, to provide. To forgive. To love.

I learn they are still downstairs with eager, open arms at the end of each day.

And I know that, amidst the chaos I create, He remains lovingly present.