This morning I cried. It just all felt too overwhelming. From morning until night, I am giving out. I am needed, wanted. Small children wake before 7, and older children are still awake at 11. To say nothing of the nighttime wanderers. They follow me and want endless cuddles and food and questions answered. And every now and then, the lack of breathing space can crowd in and there’s nowhere to hide, to just not be asked a question or touched, for five minutes. This morning there were expectations that were disappointed. There was sadness at events that are now cancelled. I was missing seeing other mums, and my sisters, and my mum. So I walked into the garden and cried.

And even when I was out there, feeling a bit sorry for myself, and a bit weary of it all, I was followed by small people. And then I spotted some new wildflowers growing in amongst the last of winter’s dead leaves under the tree. And Maddie found the dying flower I’d removed from the vase and thrown in the garden yesterday, and to her it was the prettiest thing in the garden.

I went back inside and ate a fresh Cinnamon bun, and Theo brought me a handful of treasures he’d collected for me. Dandelions and daisies and feathers and paper scraps. His gift to me.

So I put the dandelions in a vase, and watched the sparrows on the bird feeder and considered how beauty can be found even in the messiness of family life, how dying flowers and weeds can be seen as beautiful treasures, and how even among the dead winter leaves there is a promise of hope. And how after every winter spring comes, the buds grow, the birds return, and the sun comes out.

After we had lunch and we’d all settled a little, we had home church, with exuberant dancing from some children, quiet amusement from others. We watched the story and made a craft, which always goes down well if it involves paint and scissors.

Everyone was just feeling worn out today I think. Lethargic and a bit miserable and tired (maybe all the cleaning they did yesterday). So I downloaded Disney plus, some people had naps, and we just all took a breath.

Which I think was what we all needed. It’s been an intense 20 days of illness and job stress and social distancing and school closing and home schooling and lockdown and learning how to zoom and all being together all the time. And now it’s the Easter holidays and life is completely different to how it was at half term, and our holiday is cancelled, and people are at risk, and we’re grieving life as we knew it. And it’s ok to feel sad and mad and find it hard.

Of course because the kids are the kids, things can never stay dull and gloomy for long. I had a zoom with my family during which Theo pranced into the room in a Cinderella dress, and then spent a good portion of the call trying to show everyone his glittery lipstick. And Micah insisted on telling everyone he’d done a ‘bottom burp’.

At dinner we were discussing whether we should get chickens, and what they should be called. Suggestions included ‘Harry, Ron and Hermione’ (thank you Megan), ‘Megan, Maisie and Toby’ (the younger ones are always original), and of course, ‘Poo poo’. Because that is an acceptable answer to any question if you are a small boy.

I managed to find space to listen to the message our church shared today, a talk that our pastor gave 9 years ago, and I clearly remember it being preached back then, partly because I’d posted those very same verses the day before the message was preached, which made me sit up and take notice in church. It’s a message of hope in desperate times. As I heard it again I thought of all the situations we’ve faced as a family in the years in between – fostering with painful beginnings and endings and challenging in betweens. Financial struggles and debt repayments. Relationship challenges. Caring for children with disabilities and trauma. Unexpected house moves. Grief.

The Hope we held on to through all those challenges hasn’t failed us. And even though things in the world around us seem to be unraveling, and even if things get worse, I can say with faith that ‘the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is His faithfulness.’

Im grateful that tomorrow will bring new mercies. Hopefully there will be more sleep tonight, and we’ll all be a bit cheerier too, and there’ll still be some cinnamon buns left too. But even if not, ‘the Lord is my portion, says my soul, therefore I will hope in Him.’ (Lam 3:22-24).