Everyday Holy

It's five in the morning, the sun is inching its way across the sky. While the rest of the world enjoys the last hours of sleep, I instead am beholden to the cries of my newborn son. In these still small early mornings, it is just the two of us. We both yawn as our day begins. He is just beginning to explore & learn this world and I am just beginning to learn him. 

In just a few short days of having him here in my arms, everything has changed. Hours somehow slip by unaccounted for except for the growing pile of laundry and dishes. At the same time, the days seem to leak into each other without much to mark the passing of time. My house is a mess, there are teeny tiny onesies piled on the floor and I have yet to finish a cup of coffee. Yet, there is something overwhelmingly holy about this season, about these hours of ordinary mess. Each batch of laundry that contains burp clothes and each bottle washed is a reminder of the answered prayer I hold in my arms. Not just one prayer but days, months, years of prayer, of asking the Lord for a child to hold. I am not sure my heart has quite grasped this yet, the blessing that is my son. 

With each burp, dirty diaper, and early morning feed I feel myself sitting in the everyday holy. Admist exhaustion where all I have is a whispered thank you, my heart is full.