There's just a handful of us when we begin to sing. I look across the front of the room and my heart smiles to see them: Ian, ten years old and keeping a tentative beat on the bongos; Felipe, college student, friend and guitar teacher to Owen, thirteen years old and carefully picking his way from one note to another; Isabel, fifteen and contributing one-handed chords on the keyboard for added melody; and ten-year old Alec, switching screens on the PowerPoint as our few but healthy voices raise in praise. My husband leads us in singing while next to me squirms Silas, a few weeks shy of three years old and beside him keeping a watchful eye is seventeen-year old sister Eva. This is Sunday morning and bright sunshine lifts my spirits as God's Word is preached and theology creatively taught through the brief hours we meet together.
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It's hard to find a time our schedules mesh as I'm home most days homeschooling while she's gone every day, long hours on her feet at a mentally and physically demanding job. It's an endless cycle created by a family financial crisis, leading to early mornings and late nights and little time with her children who hearts have turned spiritually cold and devastated hers. We meet to talk, listen and pray. I have no simple answers to offer, as much as I wish for a magic wand to make all the heartache go away. I know God is here and I know He is able, but circumstances seem so impossible and the daily tension wreaks havoc on her health in every way. How long, oh Lord? And how far might they stray? Yet what steps of faith do You require? We bow our heads in the coffee shop and seek His promises, walking slowly home together towards another week and waiting hopefully for His work to be seen.
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And then it's late and trying to create, at the center setting up for a different kind of day. With my daughter and a friend, preparing tables and exploring ideas and yawning when the reloj reaches midnight and my husband sends a text asking, "Are you coming home?" Meanwhile there is still a drive back across town and tomorrow's breakfast dish to prepare before the night is through. But all's well that ends well and the next day is a success, companionable and relaxing and reflecting on the blessing of what we are called to do together as volunteers at the pregnancy center known as FLORECE.
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In the morning our hearts are encouraged as we circle the tables for breakfast and watch two testimonies of transformation only God can inspire in broken lives. Imagination and laughter, conversation and cards make the hours pass quickly until I am home at last, only to find Pedro wishes I would join him and the kids and a few others at the beach to finish the day. Over bumpy off-roads and rocky shores we discover the delight of tide pools and starfish against the task of a containing a toddler from fiery flames and slippery stones as dusk falls. It's a beautiful night and lovely way to end the holiday as tomorrow we face school once again.
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Facing school is like facing a giant and it's a day when nothing turns out as it should. One child coughing and sneezing and leaving work half done to head back to bed. Another hitting a wall in writing and ignoring it while a dozen more assignments quickly pile. Two more needing uninterrupted help which cannot be had, and the clock striking noon when a scheduled Skype meeting puts further school on hold. A headache brews and yet the day finally ends with smiles around the table, Pedro's Bible study with a searching friend and one tuckered toddler saying, "Mommy, I tired" before his head hits the pillow and he is softly asleep.
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