Changes
Reflections on a new season-
A season where kids aren’t tugging on me in the same way, where I am fading into their peripheral, where their wings are spreading and flight is on the horizon.
As we are raising babies, toddlers, and kids, our homes are filled with little feet pitter-pattering around the house, little arms reaching up for help, and open minds and hearts ready to be filled.
It is a season all-consuming.
Exhausting but exhilarating.
Mornings starting full force, unending until we fall into bed at night.
Our call, so clear.
We teach, we speak, we say.
We discipline, we plan, we execute.
We manage. We organize.
We instill, we correct, we train.
So much doing- molding, shaping, leading.
We are the managers of our homes and families.
Always active. On the go. On the move.
Pushing forward.
The moments are banked into a beautiful account full of laughter, joy, and memories.
This is what we were created for.
Solitude is scarce and we are rarely quiet with our own thoughts, for their demands are unending and our minds are filled with words that need said, lessons that need taught, directions that need given.
And then a shift happens.
Time passes and one season is slowly replaced by a new one.
Change.
You can’t stop it or slow it down. You can’t control it or reminisce it away.
All that doing, all that action- it slows down and you find yourself looking around, no longer seeing babies, toddlers, or young children.
Instead, we are faced with the fruits of our labor in the bodies of young adults.
The hustle and bustle morphs into something new.
A time for us to be still, to sit, to pray.
A time to surrender; to release.
As we move into the peripheral of our children’s daily life,
we become a presence, but not THE presence.
Our grip must start to loosen as we entrust them to the One they belong to.
It is HIM they walk with now, it is HIS voice they must tune into and hear;
therefore, mine must gradually grow quieter, so that His becomes louder.
And as they change and grow, so do I.
They are looking forward into their futures, full of hope and anticipation- their lives ahead of them.
I am left gazing into the rear view - analyzing every moment, praying God’s grace over it all.
I find myself mourning the passing of simpler days, immersed in their memories. An ache deep inside me wells up and threatens to pull me under.
For the first time my future looks unclear, like looking out on a landscape through a clouded lens, trying to bring it into focus.
And in the confusion, in the blur, He begins to bring clarity- there is a future awaiting me as well; one with a purpose, a plan, and a hope.
I must simply trust the process.
So, while I process the changing of life’s seasons, I am overcome with thankfulness that I have embraced each one fully, resting in the truth that His purposes and His plans never change.
And I begin to feel, dare it say it, an excitement for what the future holds.