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The house is still dark now, Lord. The quiet…oh, the blessed quiet. The only sounds as I whisper this prayer to You in my heart are that of the ticking Cuckoo clock in the hall, and the deep, steady breathing of the ones I love most slumbering deep in their beds.

I’m torn, though, Lord. Torn between getting up, sneaking downstairs and stealing a few minutes alone with You. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my coffee.

Torn between the paradise of sitting at Your feet, and the paradise of sleeping soundly in these covers for five.more.minutes.

Because that’s about all the time I have, Lord. Before little bodies stir, bleary eyes open, and the chaos and crazy of a new day ensues.

The Prayer of a Tired MamaHelp me, Lord.

Help me when those sleepy, shuffley feet patter to my side and ask me to “actually make” breakfast, not just open it. Help me to smile at the gift of this day. Of these kids. The gift of the chance to start the day right – with a smile and something yummy to eat.

Help me as I struggle to wake up fully to these round-faced cherubs…because it appears I chose the five minutes of extra sleep over getting up before them so I could get my own morning grumpies out first.

Help me as I pour milk, usher cereal to bowl, wipe up milk. Help me to see it as a blessing to my kids; not the bane of my morning to actually have to function when all I really want to do is sit on the couch and stare into nothing until the coffee pot is full.

Let my words speak life. Joy. Love. Peace. Kindness.

Let my actions be full of Goodness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-control.

I’m afraid to pray for patience today, Lord. Because the last time I did, You sure gave me opportunities to practice it!

But here goes…help me be patient when they ask for the umpteenth time if they can watch kid shows. Or paint. Or have a snack even though they didn’t finish their lunch because they swore they couldn’t eat another bite or they would pop.

Help me relish it when the little man in my life, with the still-dimpled hands and grown-up hair cut asks me to read that one book. Again. And then again.

Help me ask their forgiveness when I heave the heavy sigh because I just sat down and the call came again: Mooooooommmmm!!!!

Better yet, help that heavy sigh leave on the next train outta here and never come back.

Let me see the everyday miracles You inject into this house. This family. Our lives.

Give me strength when the splinters just go a little too deep; when the cut is too big; when the hurt too immense and I can’t fix it.

Muster in me, somehow, by some miracle of Your sheer strength the energy to run with them when they squeal and stop halfway down the hall, “Chase me, mama!!”

Lord, they want dinner again. Again! If I have to plan one more night’s food I may just scream. Or cry. Or both.

I’m going to get out of bed now, Lord. You know I’m already dreaming about when I can climb back in – though who knows if I’ll get to stay in it all night this time.

There is no way on this green earth I can make it through this day; this all-consumming fatigue without Your help. So come now, Lord. Let’s get this day started.

Because its only just beginning and I’m already oh-so-tired.

But I’m so thankful, God, to get to walk through these days with this crazy crew and laugh, cry, snuggle, discipline, repeat.

Here they come now, Lord.

Let’s do this.

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