The alarm went off at 4:45 this morning. My days are beginning earlier as my little ones wake earlier – it’s the only time that I can find to myself with dwindling afternoon nap times. I can’t believe it’s been nearly six years since those waiting days ended, back when I had all the time in the world to write and linger long without anybody needing me. The boys begin school in a couple of weeks – Jordan is going to kindergarten and Jonathan is starting his first year of preschool. I’ll have two mornings a week where it’s just Rinnah and I.

“I wonder if I should try to find a nanny on those mornings,” I said to my sister on the phone this morning. But I already knew the answer to that the moment the words left my mouth: not an option. I waited a very long time for these miracle babes. My days with them home with me are fleeting. It’s only three years before she goes off to kindergarten, too, and I begin to get some of my days back. No, there will be no nanny. Just a couple of special mornings a week, just me and her.

But, yes, that morning alarm. It went off well before dawn, but I didn’t manage to get myself out of bed until 45 minutes later. I poured the coffee, dimmed the dining room light, slipped into my morning chair, began to dig. I’m in the Psalms these days, working on a commentary I started teasing at least two years ago. (Projects move slowly when they are written in 15-minute blocks.) But it’s funny what happens when I read and prayerfully process things as my brain stretches and moves, struggling to wake up. It’s almost like verbally processing sometimes, realizing the “why” behind my motivations that had been hiding.

I haven’t talked about it on here – I save my writing for short-form captions where I know you are already scrolling. (Who has time for double-posting, anyway?) But I’m about to release a course I’ve been working on for quite a while now. I thought that it was two years but realized the other day it’s more like three. I’ve heard variations of the same sentiments over the years – “I can’t believe what you are able to produce with three little ones at home!” “Where do you find the time?” “Maybe you should just rest a little bit.” And I’ve had various responses of the same. I explain that, for me, creating is restful. It’s the one thing that I can control in a wildly chaotic season that is absolutely beyond any control I ever thought I might have as a mother. And I also know that I’m impatient. Entrepreneurial. Driven. So it’s hard for me to sit on something once I dream it. (You can read more about that in this post.)

But it wasn’t until I was reading this morning that I understood another motivation behind my drive. The answer to the “why now?” question my husband often asks when I get agitated and impatient.

“For in death there is no remembrance of You; in the grave, who will give You thanks?” (Psalm 6:5)

I could do this properly and take time to explain the context of this verse, but naptime is ending and babes are stirring. So I’m writing it just as I read it this morning: one single verse pulled from a collection of ten.

As I flipped through the cross-references, I saw a repeated combination of two different things:
1. Whatever you do, do it with all your might, not lagging in diligence, and heartily, for God and not for people. (Ecclesiastes 9:10, Romans 12:11, Colossians 3:23)
2. The dust will not praise Him after I die. Death cannot praise Him. There is no work or knowledge or wisdom in the grave, and His lovingkindness will not be declared from it. (Psalm 30:9. Isaiah 38:18, Ecclesiastes 9:10, Psalm 88:10-11)

No, releasing my course, doing all of this work, now, in this season that I am in? It does not make any sense. The age of my kids and the amount of time that I have to myself doesn’t lend itself to this. But then I read Psalm 6:5 and all of the cross-references about how death cannot praise Him and I realize just how much my experiences have shaped my decisions.

The reality is: my best friend died young. Very young. Before she even reached what is traditionally considered middle age. There should have still been plenty of time for her to do all of the things she ever dreamed up. But, for her, there wasn’t.

Maybe that’s why I feel this drive, this passion. Sure, I’m impatient. And yes, I’m entrepreneurial and driven. But also? I have no idea how much time God has allotted me. So? I do it now. Today. While I still have breath to do it.

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