CHERISHING THE HANDPRINTS

This article was in my "inbox" this morning I am a member of our local MOPS community (Mothers of Preschoolers). I read this article and I felt like it was something I could have written myself. Every now and then in the midst of the chaos, I have these same exact feelings.

My husband found me sitting on the stairs today, holding a paintbrush slick with fresh paint on it. He noticed there was no new paint on the walls and then saw tears running down my cheeks toward a silly grin.“Honey, is something wrong?” he inquired tenderly. “Oh, everything is so great!” I honestly told him. Moments earlier, when I went to the stairs to begin the painstaking task of painting around the handrail, I saw a landscape of handprints and messy smears – ranging from peanut butter to cheese cracker residue, dirt to other unrecognizable substances.They sneak up on me from – a doll left tucked under my pillow, a soggy cracker found in a coat pocket – reminders that my children are HERE! During years of repeated miscarriages, I wondered if I would ever have the indescribable blessing of waking up at 2 a.m. (and again at 3 a.m.) to soothe a child. Would my refrigerator ever become an overflowing gallery of precious childhood art? What about play-dates and sick days and parent-teacher meetings? God later answered the cries of my heart and gave me not just one, but two children. And my children make their presence well-known in their waking hours. The house is abuzz with laughing and crying, bickering and playing. But it’s in the quiet of nap-time or the still of the late evening hours when I feel my children’s presence most strongly. My living room floor is littered with toys, something is stuck on the ceiling fan, and I can see that my daughter has found my lipstick. Again.It’s in those discoveries when I close my eyes, push aside the grumbling housekeeper in my head, and thank God for my precious little ones and cherish the mess!