Over at The High Calling, Marcus Broaddus writes about the routine of teatime, and how it brings peace to a hectic day:
You get home from work late, again, with just enough time to eat before getting the kids ready for bed. They argue over whose turn it is to take their shower first or who touched whose stuff. You get them past their fussing long enough for them to brush their teeth. They come out of their room for snacks or water or to brush their teeth again after a new snack. Your spouse checks over the last minute thing the kids forgot for school as they make one more random excuse to come out of their room. That’s when you do the final room check to make sure their lights are really off and they’re not under the covers with a flashlight playing games. A semblance of quiet settles over the house, and you have just enough energy left to carry yourself to the bedroom and collapse in a heap.
Or maybe that’s just me?
Technically, all of this is my holy routine. The Lord knows I call on his name often enough while trying to wrestle my sons to bed. To abuse the Psalmist, even though I have only two arrows to speak of, my quiver is full. Plus a wife. Plus a job and a writing career. Plus friends. Not to mention my outside interests, from teaching to volunteer work, a jumble of running here to there.
My alarm goes off at five thirty each morning, and I’m not due to arrive at work until nine. My wife and the boys won’t wake up until seven. For the next hour and a half, the house is mine.