Slow down, relax, and sit awhile
Grief is strange. The loss of a person, the loss of a life once lived, the loss of relationships, the loss of a routine, the loss of normalcy. These losses created a grief in our hearts that festers and grows at the strangest of times.
But then…God sends a rainbow in the middle of the darkest clouds. A reminder that grief is a catalyst for growth, that even in grief there is hope.
Remember to always look for the rainbow. It may be small, it may be faint but it’s there.
This is taken from one of my Instagram posts from last week.
It’s that time of year when time seems to float over the mass of my to do lists and messy schedules, over my classroom lessons and my kids extracurricular activities, over weekend plans and planning to check in on friends and family, over all the things that seem to completely leave me floundering and often upset, for no reason other than I’m completely overwhelmed.
The past few weeks have been exhausting so I think I have to remember it’s ok not to complete the lists, to simply breathe and let things go. It’s ok to take a minute when everyone else is screaming for your attention to just be. So stop and take the picture, take it all in, just be.
I was listening to a podcast this morning on my way to work as I often do. Emily P. Freeman was giving life advice in the soothing, willowy, calm way only she can. (Check out “The Next Right Thing” on Spotify. I tried to link it but can’t.)
She talked about writers writing about what they know as a daily practice.
So, here I go. Here are some things I currently “know”. (Insert all the air quotes here because, WHAT do I REALLY know?)
I know that teenagers are like roller coaster. Up and down they go, where they stop, nobody knows. Unless you have food. They will stop for food. I know my daughter and son need time to decompress after a long day at school. I know they don’t really need advice but a listening ear.
I know Colorado is hot and dry and I need to wear more sunscreen lest I dry up like an old prune.
I know I am still waiting to take the best yearbook photo ever. I’m 42. Still haven’t.
I know my husband is kind and wants to take care of us even when he is away. I know he loves to cook and I love to eat what he cooks.
I know gas is expensive and I am like an Uber these days. I know I need to streamline our schedules and I’m trying my best.
I know we just went from zero to a thousand miles an hour and we just started school. I know I need to place boundaries around our time because no one is truly happy when we’re exhausted.
I also know that I am truly blessed to have a crazy schedule and healthy kids and a loving husband. I know these chaotic moments and schedules will pass and in a few years, I’ll be calling my kiddos instead of driving them around.
I know we have new neighbors that are kind and good and stop everything when my car battery dies to help out. I know I love our little house we are crammed into. I know I’ll miss it later.
I know these moments are fleeting and fast. I know life is hard and altogether good, if I look for that goodness. I know God has sustained me over the last few years, and He always will, even if His provision looks so different than I ever imagined.
So, what do you know?
James 4:14 “Yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.”
The tension is palpable, anxiety is almost like an electric current. New faces surround me; they are fresh and yet already exhausted. This is just the beginning of the journey.
The beginning of the journey of making another little family that will love us and also rip our hearts in two. The journey of finding out more about ourselves than we will ever be able to teach to others. The journey of learning what is truly important and what can wait for tomorrow, or never.
We smile, we move quickly as we rush to make magic of the piles left over for us to pilfer. Minds racing with information and ideas, some will be made tangible and others we will soon forget.
We rush, we slow down, we learn, we grow, we feel anxious, we feel overwhelmed. We feel love and loved. We feel like we are the luckiest people. We feel like teachers.
I was going to write about something totally different but then as I was sitting and waiting for my kids at their music lessons, I heard a mom say a profound thing. I’m sure she didn’t even think about it and it was not meant in a profound, advice giving way.
She said, “Walk with your head up, otherwise it can be dangerous.” Ok, so hear me out. I know she was telling her child not to run into a wall because she was holding her tablet however, those words spoke to my whole being.
Walking with my head up means I know who I am and I know my worth. I understand my worth is not simply seen in what I do here on earth but in Who I belong to for eternity. Walking with my head up means walking with confidence, not pride. It means showing grace and mercy in a way I know I’ve been shown those things. It means holding less to earthly things and things that matter for eternity. Walking with my head up means rembering my gifts and talents and giving those things away with love. Walking with my head up means remembering where I’ve been but not dwelling on the past. Walking with my head up means planning for the future but being present now.
So, thanks for the advice random mom. I appreciate the reminder.
A front porch view 