It's Monday morning and nothing has gone wrong so far this week: there have been no major arguments, I have calmly handled finding an ink-pad sized blue mark on my sons' carpet, negogiated the choppy waters of one child augmenting a reasonable request that a sibling leave the room with an inappropriate epithet and provided sellotape when this is my highly protected time alone!
I heard deeply challenging talk at church last night on the difference between having faith and living by faith. Do I really expect the Kingdom of Heaven to break into my daily life? Do I hope for divine intervention in the little hiccoughs of hour-by-hour living with three children?
God has been speaking to me about this in subtle ways for the last six months and last night's sermon felt like a conclusion, a coming together of all the lessons into a final challenge.
A song I have listened to frequently has the simple lyric: "Same power that conquered the grave lives in me, lives in me." What would my life look like if I believed this in my gut, not just my brain? My faith may be very tiny, perhaps only as big as a mustard seed, but Jesus said that was enough.