Our nine year-old emptied the dishwasher late tonight, loaded the few dirty dishes that were in the sink, and wiped down the counters. His brothers and sisters were asleep or nearly in their rooms. But not him. He was wide awake.
He looked over into our laundry room.
“I see you have a lot of laundry to fold there,” he said.
“And I don’t want you to have to do this too…
And besides, (big brother) doesn’t really like to unload the dishes in the morning. So I will unload them…
But will you still tell him he has to do it in the morning, mom?”
He smiled after asking that question.
Perhaps he smiled at the thought of his brother discovering the job done.
But more than likely, smiling at the plan to make his brother huff at nothing at all.
He asked again, “You will ask him to do it, right, mom?”
“Yes,” I answered and smiled, convinced of his clever little plan.
He smiled big.
He then had asked how else he could help me.
I was amazed by his energy.
It was nearly ten o’clock at night. I was becoming exhausted. My husband was also working late. So my options were to either send him to bed or accept the help in the form it was in. I accepted his help.
He then proceeded to help me load up another load of laundry, match socks and fold the last of the basket that was shoulder high before he started cleaning the kitchen. We got done folding what needed folded.
“Do you want me to push this to your room?”
I stood in awe.
“Where do you get all your energy?” I asked him.
He looked up, smiled and shrugged his shoulders and answered,
He then pushed the full basket of clothes across the kitchen floor, passed the dining table and into my and my husband’s bedroom.
His answer touched my heart more than he could ever know.
Because it has been a busy year for our family and it isn’t over. And the nights and days get so long. And sometimes, I just get so tired, if not physically purely emotionally, and yet in my spirit I know that God is with us, that his strength is sufficient, that God is not weary…
And as I watched that boy bent over, pushing across our house a loaded laundry basket of clothes he helped to fold, my heart caught a glimpse of God in our house.
“Jesus, you aren’t weary, are you?
And you are truly here, aren’t you?”
I saw it on the smile of a nine year-old boy walking back into our kitchen, and heard it in his young, vibrant, voice,
“How else can I help?”