In the busyness of life, white space often feels illusive. Days are brimming with obligations and unread emails and making beds and renovation decisions and laundry and conference calls and soccer practice. I forget to plan ahead for dinner and find myself scrambling at the end of a long day to transform the meager contents of the fridge (grocery store runs always fall to the bottom of my list) into something edible for my family. I sign reading logs and practice math facts and ensure teeth are brushed and soap is used in the bath (why is it so difficult to remember to use soap? Is this quandary unique to my little people? Tell me it isn’t so…). I close my eye and smile as sweet voices lift up words of thankfulness for the little moments from the day before offering up innocent pleas for “a healthy baby brother” and “protection for our animals” and healing for a scratch or a sore throat or an “infection in my ear,” I kiss foreheads and tell stories and finally collapse into my own bed. Exhausted physically but so very full.
Enter, Spring Break.
The calendar for this entire week has been blissfully empty. A week specifically set aside for rest and laying down responsibilities. The weather practically showed off all week – sunshine, cool temperatures and chilly nights – perfect for exploring outside during the day and making bonfires with s’mores in the evenings.
We have had our share of sibling squabbles, please don’t envision us sitting around singing and laughing all day through. Even still, the sweet moments have far outweighed the hard ones. After being cooped up inside for the long, dreary winter months, my little people have essentially thrown on their shoes in the morning and let their imaginations lead them on outdoor adventures throughout the day. The boys worked together for two days constructing a rock pathway from the house to the lake, the girls have rehearsed their ballet performance on “stage” countless times (stage=daddy’s equipment trailer or a large rock; any flat surface will suffice), a puzzle is in constant progress on the dining table, a tree fort design has been finalized with work commencing this afternoon, fish have been beckoned with reels and turkey dogs (no luck just yet;)), and underground caverns have been explored.
As the remodel work on our house continues, and the countdown to the arrival of Baby Luke rapidly progresses (89 days to go!), I could not be more grateful for this blissful week of calm in the midst of our typically crazy lives. I feel like God has used this time to prepare my heart for the season we are poised to embark on.
As we approach the close of our chapter as a family of six, I am at peace. If I’m honest, the news of baby #5 was not met with immediate peace and exuberance. It took me a minute to wrap my mind around the fact that my plans were about to take a major detour – a miraculous one, yes – but a detour nonetheless. I had just started finding my footing again after a really hard season of raising a whole lot of really little people (4 under 4 can threaten to make a sane person rather crazy), dealing with unsettling health issues caused by extreme stress and PTSD from our traumatized daughter’s behavior and subsequent attachment disorder (that’s a whole other post for a whole other time, adoptive mommas – just know, we are in this together and it is hard and secondary trauma is very, very real but healing is possible), and feeling whole again as I started to work more consistently and write and take up running again. All the things I had placed on the back-burner for a few years were, once again, bubbling at the surface and allowing me to feel like my old self.
Charlotte will be starting kindergarten in the fall (somebody hold me). While I know I will be crying in a corner missing my little sidekick for a day or two (or three), I also had big plans for the new freedoms this would allow in my schedule. I could once again work at a more full-time pace and actually put my butt in the chair and start writing the book I have had swirling around in my mind for a couple of years. I considered training again for another long distance race (considered being the key word here;)) and started regularly attending a physically and emotionally rewarding pilates class. Dave and I started planning and dreaming about spending the summer back in our beloved South Africa and Zimbabwe as a family.
The VERY unexpected two pink lines threw a rather large kink in my nicely laid plans. I may or may not have marched outside, stick in hand, to find Dave and lay the news on him. I walked out of the garage just as he was headed back inside and, as we intersected on the driveway, I took the opportunity to kindly relay the wonderful news to him in the form of a stick thrown to his forehead.
It was not my finest moment.
He reacted in the calm, cool, level-headed way he always does while I sat in the driveway and cried for thirty minutes.
I’m so sorry, Luke. If you read these words one day, know that you are loved beyond measure and God has big, big plans for your life. He knew that despite my own selfishness, your life is the best gift He could have ever given our family. Your life was planned for this exact moment in the timeline of history. I may have not had you on my radar for 2019 but, goodness gracious, God did. And, God’s plans and timing are perfect and far greater than my own silly plans to run or work (two things I don’t even really like to do all that much;)) or “get my life back” – a lie straight from the enemy. My life has always been carefully and preciously held in the hands of my Father. And, even more importantly, my dreams have been shaped by God’s desires and are exceedingly better than they ever were ten years ago – before I had this loud, crazy, beautiful family of mine.
I may feel too old to start over again. I may feel ill-equipped to manage the emotions and spiritual development and laundry and school registration forms of five little people. I may feel overwhelmed some days with the sheer amount of stuff we continually accumulate and sort through and donate. I may feel completely insufficient at remembering preschool snack days or keeping all the school dress-up days straight or remembering to attend the 10:00 ballet class on Tuesday mornings consistently.
BUT, God.
He knows these five little loves of mine don’t need an organized momma or a momma who greets them after school with freshly-baked-from-scratch cookies or a momma who gets it right all the time and never has to apologize for her bad attitude or unkind words.
He knows they need a momma who loves them with a ferocity that could take on the very legions of hell. He knows they need a momma who will stand with them and be there for them no matter what life throws their way. He knows they need a momma who can’t “juggle it all” or live up to the standards of the world because she knows her need for Jesus and knows she is nothing in her own strength. He knows they need a momma to show them the upside-down Kingdom of God. He knows they need a momma who lives life with her plans surrendered in hopeful expectation of all God has in store. He knows they need a momma to teach them about life’s detours and the goodness of God in the midst of every unexpected turn.
He knows.
And, as we take our steps toward a new season as a family of seven, I am overwhelmed with gratitude. I find myself awestruck that God would give so many good gifts to little ole’ me, someone who messes up all the time and is ridiculously undeserving.
And, I think that’s the whole point. To make a regular habit of pausing, taking an inventory of my many gifts from above and to offer up praise to the bestower of each and every one.