Swing Sets

Their swings are hanging still. Hanging down from the wooden beam their daddy braced, on the swing set he built for them. 

The birds are chirping - this is their hour - and other than an occasional car, the world is quiet. The sun has risen but appears timid, peeping like a shy child through the trees. The grass is soaked, their playhouse is damp and cold. 

Their swings are hanging still, and I can barely stand it. 

The quiet and the stillness are completely real, and simultaneously completely false. It is all moving so quickly. This season of having little ones, the very earth on its axis, these thoughts ricocheting - all of it moving so quickly. 

Only God can help my heart reconcile the two truths fighting for favor in my heart. I long for all of this to last forever. I never want my children to grow - but I want the joy of seeing them grow. I want their swings to seat them comfortably, forever. My eldest just learned how to pump her own feet and swing on her own, and although I was thrilled to see the excitement on her face, my heart broke. I want to push them and hear their squeals of joy, and I don't ever want it to stop being that way. I want to stand behind them, listening to their chatter, watching their little faces look up at the sky and ask all sorts of questions while they swing, swing, swing. 

Only God can comfort what He created. He created us with eternity in our hearts, yet we exist on a whirling planet fettered by time. He is eternity, and in His presence is fullness of joy. So there is exquisite joy, and exquisite ache, side by side in me. I long for the day when all will be righted, understood, made whole. 

But until then - oh, there are a million joys to cherish, and a million aches to abide. 

This afternoon, as the back porch door slams and their feet scurry down the hill to their swings, I will process through these things again. As I lift one into her swing for a little while longer, I will praise You as I savor. As I watch the other lift herself and start to fly without my help, I will praise You as I tremble. As I stand behind them, sometimes pushing, sometimes standing awkwardly not knowing what to do with my idle arms, I will beg You yet again to help me reconcile this joy and this ache in a way that will bring You glory. 

And we will swing. And swing. And swing. 

And the world will keep on turning. 

And You will be what you have always been. 

You are good.