Moments of Grace

This morning, Luke was so naughty at Mass, I had to take him outside, where I gave  him a stern lecture as he shivered, finally still and coatless. Back in the pew, I prayed only that we would make it through the service without a temper tantrum. (Mine or his - I was uncertain who might lose it first)

Came home and sorted laundry, ignoring the bathroom and my husband equally. Made the beds, didn't change the clock and wondered how Sunday EVER became known as a day of rest?

Daddy fed the children chips for lunch and as I was washing up at the kitchen sink, the pipe underneath burst. Cursing, I looked skyward: "Seriously? Is this IT? Is this how it's supposed to be?"

And then, in frustration - desperation? - I shoved a bucket under the tap, scooped up the Reds and tossed us all out the door:

Watching them run off their cabin fever and splash through puddles wearing their Sunday coats, I laughed out loud and finally, relaxed.

"No, my child," I could almost hear Him say. "This is how it's supposed to be."