On Showing Up

We enter the room, myself and four kids. The four excuses for my rare visits. The weight of the infant seat, a rambunctious two-year-old and two older ones, who only seem to egg him on, when confined to a space where they must be controlled. I smile and say, "hello," then I seem to correct, reprimand, walk in and out of the room reining in the two-year-old and finally say that we should probably go, no conversation had. 

Is it really worth all that effort? It seems silly to go that far out of my way, to expend that much energy on the children, not to even be able to visit. 

I try without kids, yet finding time away from them can be burdensome for the family, too, or requires me to go during a much needed rest time. Fully exhausted and without too much thought, I opt to ignore. 

A week. A month goes by. I feel the weight then easily forget again. 

Weeks on end, the whisper says, "Just show up." 

"It's just so hard," I whine. To give up normalcy - the comfort of an already too chaotic life for what? For eyes that see shallow? For words that criticize? For a heart that is desperately guarded. Desperately needy. 

Why me? I don't have spare time. I don't have the right words. I don't have the energy, as I sense the weight of a hardened heart in him toward Him. Who am I? I continue to forget. My days fill up. It is easy to forget.

The whisper does not go away. I sense it in my heart. I see it in the words of the theme for a study I work through. I see it in a book I am reading. I hear it in church. It's all around me and I know.

It hits me a little more severely when I see something that causes me to envision Christ Himself there; Christ sitting there waiting for me to show up, to comfort me with His presence, to pour out His glory through me one. visit. at. a. time. Christ Himself is waiting.

When I close my eyes or look the other way; when I choose to ignore, I ignore so much more than what I think I attempt to avoid. 

To avoid, I ignore Christ Himself. I remain comfortable in a world that is safe by pretense and I forget the purpose of my being, the purpose for which I am raising my children, the purpose for which I was created.

For service; for sacrifice; to give to the poor, the needy, and hungry - Christ Himself. 

Can I justify giving to the poor across the sea, thousands of miles away when I ignore that which is before me only ten miles away? 

What if He has me here for such a time as this (Esther 4:14)?

Will I find the courage? Will I allow myself to be used though it feels like it will cost me too much - limited time, emotion, peace? Will I take the risk, though I search for how?

We show up. By the grace of God, the children are little angels. 

We don't say much or anything seemingly significant. We simply show up.