It’s late. Only 9pm. But so late. The night shift will soon begin and the day shift with bathtimes and teeth brushing battles has only just begun to wind down. I slink away for a bit to steal some quiet and maybe some few moments of sleep in between shifts.

But they find me.

They pad down the hallway, long shadows stretching around the corner into my room before deep breaths whisper into my ear, “Mama, can we lay by you?” Then they sandwich into the bed beside me and begin the losing battle against not speaking. One may as well try and hold back the tide. The day, their highs, lows and secret wishes come trickling out. First in whispers and then in bold declarations of how when they grow up they will be trash truck drivers, builders, policemen, game rangers, fathers, and heroes.

Their profiles against the hall light are brave and delicate at the same time.

I can feel the sand, gritty against my foot where it’s escaped socks and sandboxes, now taking up residence at the foot of my bed. Someone farts, someone else burps and my retreat is now  a mini-locker room experience for my growing up boys-will-be-boys boys. I relive snapshots of the day from their perspective and discover how someone’s minuscule boo-boo looms large in their memory and how someone else likes to be the leader anytime we take a walk around the block.

Who would have thought boys giggled this much.

In the dark and the tired and the small, everydayness of these moments I feel it. The weight of glory. The glorious ordinary that is His gift to us.

The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. ~ Colossians 1: 15-17.

There is no part of my everyday, wash and repeat routine of kids and laundry and life and fights and worries and play dates and Kindergarten orientation and work and marriage and love and new life and bed time snuggle fests that Jesus doesn’t look deep into and say, “That is mine.”

In Him all things hold together.

All things.

Even and especially the two boys and the tired mom under that yellow comforter and African quilt on a Sunday night.

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