Jackson is asleep on the couch. After we read our Advent verses (making up for a couple of missed days), we prayed. And we prayed for a long time, which is unusual. He wanted me to pray for his Great Grandma & Grandad Stecker (as well as all his other grandparents). A very sweet request as it's been so long since he's seen them, and he never really saw them that often, but he said God told him to pray for them today. So we did. He then curled up, kissed me goodnight, and swiftly fell asleep.
The lights in the house are turned off, with the exception of my trusty Ikea paper floor lamp, and a green scented candle, burning inside our little black church sitting on the mantle. The lights on the Christmas tree are on, too, and I'm sitting in a chair, between the lamp and the candle, facing the tree, listening to Songs for Christmas.
A scene so perfect that I don't even mind the toys and papers on the floor, or the dirty dishes in the sink, or the fact it's been a crappy day, or that I'm waiting on the husband (again) to return home. So perfect a scene that I finished my Bible study for tomorrow, the first time I've achieved this feat in innumerable weeks. There is a snoring child happily draped on the sofa. Another one upstairs in her own bed (for now). And I am at peace (for now).
I have found that in the midst of completely chaotic, soul-searching, heart-wrenching, hair-pulling times, God has been known to give a good gift or two. Or a sweet moment or two. Or just a chance to catch one's breath and see that some things are right. Maybe not all, but some. And sometimes, some things are just enough.