Sometimes I get these urges to write that stop me in my tracks. Like now, when I should be studying but I can’t. Because there are words and stories in my head begging to be let out.
Questions I wrestle with, like should I say yes to that thing I haven’t answered yet? Have I been a good enough wife? Why did I bite my lip and talk through my teeth at my kids this morning?
People I see and can’t help but wonder: what’s their story? How do they feel and how have they hurt and do they know Jesus? Passerbyers in the coffee shop and in Target and driving down the road. It’s almost like I feel them, and for a second I get a glimpse of the answer, but then I move on.
What will my legacy be when I leave this Earth, and did I love well? Did I love well consistently or only when it was comfortable? How will people remember me when I’m gone and did I ever hurt them in ways I was unaware of?
When will I get the urge to finish all those projects I started and never finished? Like, sorting the kids’ artwork from the last 7 years into those fun albums my mother-in-law gave me, and finishing the gallery wall I started?
Why don’t we travel more as a family? And why is waking up to exercise so stinkin’ hard some (most) days?
Sometimes I stay in a place of recollection and I think back to the times when I’ve stifled my daughters God-given uniqueness in a selfish attempt to get my way. When I’ve silenced them and been too self-absorbed to see that they were only expressing themselves as the beautiful tiny humans that they are. When will I learn that these are the moments to savor in life, and give them grace to be children?
On other days, I am present to the point of pausing. I find myself breathing slowly, talking less and observing all that is beautiful around me. I see my children play together and imagine and create and fall and laugh and boss each other around and I feel complete. Whole. I feel peace.
I have come to learn and accept that routines serve me well. That my soul craves predictability and it’s almost freeing in a sense to be bound to a pattern. Like my soul knows what’s next and there is freedom to do the thing without feeling pressured to do the thing.
That the balance and rhythm I have found with working part-time is kind of like when I was a stay-at-home-mom trying to build a network marketing team. There are pockets in my day of meaningful contribution to a greater mission than my own (that would be my job, which for the record, is such a blessing and a gift to me – for the first time in my life I wake up and say I get to go to work today rather than I have to go to work today. It’s a game-changer, people). And deeper pockets in that same day spent contributing to the lives of the tiny humans God blessed me to care for. Seeing the joy on their faces when their school day has ended. Watching Sadler do her homework and witnessing her growth right before my very eyes.
How my word for 2019 — intentional — has played out. And is still playing out.
Intentionally taking off the notifications from my phone. Ohmygracious the visual peace on my home screen and the elimination of distractions in my day – joy and magic for real, y’all.
Deleting Facebook. And only wishing I had it back when I wanted to sell something on Marketplace. Aside from that, I haven’t missed a single second of it.
Making a habit of washing my face and moisturizing it before bedtime every night. Yes, believe it or not, I did not do that for 36 years. Gross, yes. Ridiculous, yes. But true, also yes.
Choosing books over TV. And choosing to read books that grow me, push me, awaken me, feed me. Realizing that what goes in our mind’s eye is what comes out of our mouth, because that’s what gets down into our heart. The bible tells us to guard it for a reason.
There is a ton of room in the margin for me to be intentional about much, much more. There’s time yet. But what I do know is the good just gets better when I put a little effort into showing up with intention.
And to tie this rambling up with a bow: here are things I love in this season…ok, maybe some of them I have loved forever.
The beach. The Enneagram. A big soft blanket. Hot tea. The farmer’s market on Saturday mornings. Plants in my house. Sunrises. Mandolin Orange. Sitting by a fire (soon enough). Hearing my kids laugh. Sadler’s homemade jokes. My husband’s smile. Reading the gospels. The Lazy Genius’s Change Your Life Chicken. The thought of taking a morning run every morning.
There’s always something to be grateful for.