Thursday, April 21, 2016
When I look back on this season of life, these years of young children, what will I remember?
I think of this question often. I'm smack in the middle right now, and it's tough some days to see past the nights with not nearly enough sleep. The laundry game that I'm badly losing. The dishes that multiply like busy rabbits. These days are long. They are sometimes lonely. They are hard.
I know, in my cognitive mind, that there will be a point where I will viscerally yearn for the days of my babies. But alongside that knowledge, I hold at the same time the bone tired, weary discouragement of today.
I haven't blogged lately because this is all that I have. I am swollen with motherhood. I begin posts, and they sit in my draft folder because I am afraid they sound whiny or shallow. I try to think of something profound I am learning, but I come up empty every time. The sum of my depth lately is the wish that my house was cleaner or the desire to sleep one whole night all the way through.
Yesterday, though, I felt Spirit nudging me to go ahead and write. About this? About my total lack of everything? Yes. Paul boasted in his weaknesses, 1 Corinthians tells us, and it's tempting to think that Paul's weaknesses were not as ugly as ours. He was a hero of the faith, after all! But what if his weaknesses really were just as glaring and awful as ours? Whatever they were, they pointed to Christ, and that's the only thing I'm holding onto these days, that when I can't, Jesus.