I don’t roll out of bed. I slowly morph from one-with-blanket to kind of awake. It takes me a minute or two to realize that I’m not really running from a phantom at the speed of geezer, but was dreaming. I blink the dry from my eyes and stare at the new day – except it looks like an out of focus impressionist painting without my glasses. I have to feel around for them because I’m too blind to see them sitting on my nightstand with the low light. Once I get them on and get dressed, my little guy bursts in.

“Morning, Mommy!”

He’s in his Thor costume and wants to wear his Spiderman flip flops to take Sissy to school because he can’t find his tennis shoes, “So can I wear them, Mommy, please, please, please?” I’m still trying to separate dream from awake and he’s asking me this before I get my daily dose of caffeine and….

“Uh, okay.”

“Yay, thank you, Mommy! Can I go wake up Sissy, can I have oatmeal today, CANIHAVEHOTCHOCOLATE?!!

The stinker knows Mommy is too groggy to say NO.
I grab my pants and pull them over my had-two-babies belly. It’s not that I’ve eaten too much chocolate but my skin is as stretched as thin as I am. You know – how we get our kids ready for school – making lunch and breakfast at the same time while loading the dishwasher and trying to brush teeth while handling a toddler meltdown? Working to pay the bills, and then writing novels—dreaming dreams—well after the sun goes down?

Is there any room in there for a date night?

We are strrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeetched tissue paper thin and have the tiger stripes to prove it.

There are those moments in between the chaos that shine beautiful, like when my son opens the door for old ladies at the library, or when my daughter picks up her journal and scrawls in her six-year-old script, “I love how the trees point toward Heaven.” This is when I know the life-scars are not ugly – they’re marks from the Great Sculptor Himself.

“Being stretched thin makes you a canvas for God’s glory.”—Ann Voskamp

God doesn’t stuff our plates full to waste our time. He takes the threads from each generation, dips them in His grace, and makes art.