Change: For What It's Worth

 

  I think there's something about this time of year that must unsettle me.  When I opened my notebook to put pen to paper I found a piece that I had written just about the same exact time two years ago. It echoed similar sentiments about the change of the seasons that I am feeling now. I know that change isn't generally easy for most people. I suppose I'm no exception. The irony is that my experience so far has been that nothing about my life ever stays the same for very long. Sometimes by my own choices, but more times than not because of the natural fluidity of the constant changing variables as a mother of five.  I guess I can say that that only real constant in my life is change.

      It's been easy for me to share so many of my experiences in the past. I do so for many reasons; sometimes I hope that I can maybe help someone to know that they're not alone, or maybe just to share a humorous take on life or even sometimes it's because I need someone to say, "Yeah, me too." But I generally write for myself. When something is pushing at my insides, taking up all the extra room in myself, I find writing to be like a release of a pressure valve. But lately sharing what has been going on hasn't been easy for me. As I sat wrestling with it all I could barely put it down on paper. Yet not 24 hours later when I decided to type it out, the weight of it all already feels less.

     You see.....I'm at the end of the summer of my 39th year and I'm exactly where I thought I would be and also no where close to where I thought that I'd be. Does that make any sense? I mean I always knew that I wanted to be a mom and here I am the mother of five amazing children whom I am so proud of. I'm also a newly single mother of five children whom I hope that I am enough for. I work hard to make sure that they have everything they need and some of what they want and that means a balancing act that I will never fully master. This is not exactly where I saw myself at this point in my life. And yet, here I am.

    Most of you know that I have an old farmhouse in the woods, something I dreamt of as a little girl reading Laura Ingalls Wilder. It's more than just a house to me, it's my home where I can feel the love from generations past melding with the stories that my family is writing within its walls. With its 200 years comes constant need of repairs that sometimes pushes me to learn that my limits are further than I ever gave myself credit for. Sometimes it forces me to set aside my pride and to ask for help. Sometimes it takes on a life of its own with the needs that it presents and I don'f feel adequate enough to be its steward. I never once considered that a HOUSE would make me feel inadequate, but again, here I am.

     You know that neat little feature on Facebook that shows you pictures from the day of in years past? Well it keeps reminding me that there's more than just some paint missing on my house but also more than one person missing from my annual back-to-school pictures and I feel their absences acutely. As a parent you're supposed to give your children wings to fly. It's part of the job. It is one of the greatest and yet most painful things in the world when you see them take flight. Navigating this season without a partner can be lonely. There's no one to bounce things off of at the end of the day. No system of checks and balances. And the personal pain of their absence is magnified by the knowledge that there are other little hearts finding their way through that realization too.

     No one ever promised that life would be easy. And most days I'm ok with that, I really do love life. Every single beautiful and broken piece of it. I marvel at how my best-laid intentions are dashed to bits only to come together like the most amazing jig saw puzzle. But some days I feel like I'm sitting in the middle of a dust storm watching all of the broken pieces whip by me, and I can't grasp even a one so I just let them fly around and hold my breath and hope for the dust to settle and that I emerge relatively intact. Powerlessness can be an amazingly empowering phenomena if you don't run away from it.

     So how do I handle the realization that life isn't going exactly to plan? Sometimes I cry, but probably a lot less than one would think. I pray a lot. I find that like the rest of my life, my relationship with God is also ever-changing. Not that He has changed, but my understanding evolves. Sometimes I am so very angry and pray with irony and sarcasm through gritted teeth following suggestions of praise even through trials, hoping that my heart will believe my words. Sometimes I feel completely broken and foolish while praying. There's times I get down on my knees to pray and have absolutely no words left. Some seasons I cannot believe the revelations of His love and providence or how i can see them in the darkest of moments. Although I often forget those moments and think that this faith thing comes so much easier for others.

     At night, especially this time of year, I can hear the changing of the guard outside of my window. The singing chorus of the summer frogs and crickets slowly fade to the eerie echoing calls of the owls and coyotes. To quote the popular verse of Ecclesiastes 3, "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." That may be a commercially overused verse but I won't let that dilute the powerful truth in those words for me. I need to remember each moment that I am in is just a part of a season of my life. Each season has its own defining beauty which is brought on by its own necessary loss. It's meant to be fleeting, to make way for the next one. That much I can count on. It's neither bad nor good, it just is.