Sunday morning I woke in the early light to see Isaac sitting in our bedroom. He was clutching his lamb and waiting for someone to wake up. I beckoned him to bed, and he curled up next to me. I wrapped my arms around him and snuggled him in tight. His bare little arms and legs were cool. He relaxed in my embrace, and was asleep in moments. I lay there, entranced by the bliss of knowing this sleeping child believes there is no safer place, of hearing his gentle breathing, of feeling the warmth of my wife against my back.
Ten minutes later, after being kicked twice in the groin, having both arms fall asleep from the Isaac-Wife vise-grip, and feeling my core body temperature hit approximately 300 degrees from these two human heat generators on either side of me, I decided to get up and work on the tractor.
Yes, I know it was Sunday. But I think Jesus would understand. Sometimes work is more restful than rest.
