I am a perfectionist, often to the detriment of those around me (and myself). If there were 48 hours in a day, I would still not accomplish all that I would like, or even a fraction of my to-do list. Not by a long shot.
Which is why the seasons of newborns are so, so good for me. Because it makes me realize how much time I spend doing things that just aren’t that important. Does it really matter at the moment if my spice rack is alphabetized? Or is it more important that my family feels loved, a love that I can only give them when I am aware that I am loved by my Heavenly Father?
This was the state of my sink this afternoon when I was able to put our sweet little guy down for a brief nap:
In the moments before I put him down, my mind was racing to establish the most efficient way to accomplish the innumerable tasks that I wanted to complete in the next 20 minutes in which I would have my hands free until he woke up.
And then my 3 year old asked me to read him a book. True, I am a softie for reading to my kids, but I am also quite adamant about an empty sink. My head wanted to get the dishes cleaned up, but my heart and the Holy Spirit told me to snuggle with my 3 year old and a book.
And I did. And then I was joined by my other two sons. The baby woke up exactly when I expected and my husband came home to find the sink in a somewhat worse state than what is pictured here. But, sometimes, that’s ok.
There may be times when a sink full of dirty dishes is evidence of laziness, but, today, it evidenced an act of love. Because that is what is really important.