Changing Seasons

Everybody told me not to blink. That it would all happen so quickly. I believed them, took their words to heart, and have done my best to keep my eyes open. 

But still... the seasons are changing. Have changed. They are growing like grass, budding like flowers, branching out like trees. They are growing, growing up, growing out. 

And I am loving every minute of this life, helping them grow up, as I am still growing up too. 

Certainly, little is a relative word if ever there was one. They are still so little, and I cherish every moment they prove it. But the seasons are changing, and it cannot be denied.

The diaper bag that once could barely hold everything now holds nothing. I've downsized to a purse again instead, and although I relish the weight off my back, there are times when the freedom feels forlorn. 

The board books have been cleaned off and placed on a different bookshelf, one not frequented as often. I'm teaching my youngest to read, while my oldest insatiably scans the shelves for her next literary conquest. We snuggle up on the couch with our blankets, and I consciously and intentionally wrap my arms around them both. I can't get enough of their closeness, and I thank the Lord for it.

Our playdates have changed. Our friendships have deepened. Playgrounds aren't frequented as often, passed over for parks and walking trails instead. We are outside more, and I love how much time we get to spend together, just being us.

I love the bigger adventures we can now go on, the field trips, the vacations. I love seeing their faces light up as another new thing is discovered, a new milestone fades into their childhood.

And it breaks my heart. Oh, how it breaks my heart. It is the greatest joy of my heart, to be their mommy.

_______

Simultaneously, I am growing up, too. 

Depending on the day, I feel so old, I feel so young, and none of it feels like I expected. 

This troubled, fading world continues to lose its appeal and its sway, and the cruelty of man makes me cling to the goodness of God in increasing measure. As the old sweet song prophesied so well, the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace. 

I'm homeschooling our daughters, and it is the right thing for us. It is rich and rewarding, and it is hard. It is a joy, and it daily takes all I have. It brings me to my knees, brings me fulfillment, brings me to tears, makes me want to scream, makes me call out to God. It is a never-ending job, but I love being home with them. 

I'm thankful every day for my husband, who has supported me in this. The Lord knew what the future held, even when we did not. We do our best to keep each other from blinking, as we both feel the exhaustion of the past few years hit us in different ways and forms. We're trying to build a home that honors the Lord, in a world that feels darker and more oppressive by the day... and none of it is like it was when we were kids. We are keeping our eyes trained on the Light, even though somedays we feel like we're fumbling around in the dark. This is parenthood, this is marriage, this is the Christian life... I'm grateful he is with me, walking this road.

I've been teaching a class this year at church, about the biblical worldview and its application in the home - and it has all removed me far away from my comfort zone. Every Wednesday night, I stand up in front of people and talk. Every afternoon as I'm getting ready for the class and trying to figure out what to wear, I'm doing battle in the closet. The old insecurities feel new, they run deep... what could I possibly have to say to these women, with any kind of authority? I'm just me. 

But just as my daughters begin to bloom and branch, so the Lord continues to prune and pare and nurture their mother... and year after year, season after season, there is fruit that proves His hand at work. I am thankful. 

I am doing my best to cling to the Vine, as I try not to blink.

_____

The leaves cover the ground, and the slightest breeze causes an autumnal festival. As my daughters grow tall enough to make their own breakfasts, the days grow shorter. 

I'll put away their Summer clothes, knowing that most of them will be too small next year. I'll do my best to not cry as I say another small goodbye, lifting the bag up onto the shelf as I lift prayers to the God who is my Father. 

The sunlight is tired and golden, the air is crisp and alive, and everything echoes the same truth: this is the changing of the season. 

I am doing my best not to blink.