This process feels like it’s never going to end.
Maybe this process never does end. Maybe we never arrive. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe that is what life is really about- and when we stop growing, we stop living.
Becoming is like a dance. It’s a dance of being undone. Becoming swoops you into new steps. It spins you around and dizzies you with the dips and lifts. Sometimes it an intense Tango; and sometimes it’s a beautiful Waltz.
Lord, dance with me. Take the lead and move me, by your grace, through the spins and dips. Set the tone. Hold me close. Guide me gently. When I stumble, help me to not despair. Remind me to lean into you. Hold my hand. Be with me.
Be with me in this Becoming.
How can life be wildly loud and lonely, at the same time?
How can there be so much movement, but no action?
How can one be lost, but surrounded by a crowd?
How do you survive the chaos when it feels like it is eating you alive?
… I do not have the answers. But this is my reality.
Seasons like this remind me of a wild ride at the fair. The type of ride that spins you around and upside down – at the same time. The type of ride that looks fun, until you are stuck in the air, mid-ride – waiting for it to be over. Barely even enduring it. There is so much overstimulation of the senses. This is NOT my favorite.
I know that there is a God who sees. I have faith that plan B has a redemptive ending. I choose to hold on one more day, waiting with my eyes shut tight for His tangible hand to be extended in grace.
I choose the chaos… this is my life.
Rocks. Seashells. Princess’ rings. Dead bugs.
That’s how it starts.
But for us Momma’s, we know it is so much more.
Life has been especially challenging in our household the last couple of months. The joy of motherhood is, needless to say, not present on a daily basis. I noticed this summer that when I was handed the rocks, and rings, and bugs – my eyes would roll and almost immediately look for a place to re-home the “treasure”. On our visit to Vashon Island a few weeks ago, I could hear the wisdom of God. It was sobering. Here was my realization: I am the keeper of the treasure.
Often I take it for granted that my small people entrust me with their most valuable finds. Some days it is exhausting to be handed pocketfuls of gray gold (aka rocks). But when God helps you to see that those rocks represent the most precious pieces of your babies day – it shifts your perspective. Or at least it did for me.
The rocks and bugs and flowers are my babes saying “I trust you with what is important to me. Will you watch over it? Will you be the keeper of my treasure” Yes! I will watch over them. I will watch over you. You are safe with me.
Lord, my prayer, help me be the momma they can always trust. The one they always want to bring their treasures to. The reflector of You and Your protection. The safe harbor when life’s winds blow hard. The loving watcher of magic moments. The believer in all things impossible. The cheerleader of tree climbing. The one who champions the difficult. Thank you for reminding me that joy is not a feeling. Thank you that You meet me when I am empty in every way. Thank you for the great honor of getting to be their advocate, their hero, their treasure keeper.