Hey harried mom,
We’re kind of twins, you and I, aren’t we?
We both sport the same frantic look in our eyes,
the same frazzled lines creased on our faces,
the same weary slope to our shoulders.
I’d venture a guess that our vehicles look similar too.
Extra sports equipment, empty water bottles,
scraps of snack wrappers, and hooded sweatshirts litter mine.
What about yours?
So often my life resembles the tyranny of the urgent,
and keeping up with the Jones’… the Smith’s…
the Whoever’s has worn me out.
You could just stick a fork in me now,
because I am DONE.
Seventeen years ago, I spent my first Mother’s Day,
not even knowing yet that I was a mother.
I cried instead.
I desperately wanted to be a mommy.
And, I had grandiose ideas of what that looked like.
I would look like June Cleaver…
sans the pearls and heals…
and my house would look just like hers too,
forgetting, of course, that her house
was a TV set with a built in staff to make it look lived in one moment
and then spic and span after the next commercial.
I was going to raise my children God’s way
and they would be on a strict schedule so as not to disrupt
my life. They would be obedient, kind, and
pleasant to be with… because that was God’s way.
Only I’m not God, so it doesn’t look anything
like His way.
On that Sunday seventeen years ago,
all I was missing was the child who would call me “Mom.”
I didn’t yet know, that the missing child was only the
beginning of things that were missing or gone awry.
So, the following February when they handed me my son,
the rat race began.
You see, in my quest to be the best, I thought I had to
do it all, take him everywhere, introduce him to everything.
The more we did, the faster we moved,
the more harried I became trying to be just like the Jones’,
the Smith’s, the Whoever’s…
I forgot to be just like us.
In those early years, we lived on a steady diet of hurry.
Hurry here, hurry there,
because if I just kept the kids moving I didn’t have
to wonder what to do with them,
how to entertain them,
how to be their mom.
If I kept busy I could convince myself that I was
doing important things…
all for them.
I got so used to the the diet of hurry and drive-thru,
Diet Coke through a straw while I drove,
and finding day (or week) old French fries stashed in
I numbed my taste buds for something more.
Here’s the funny thing…
as my children age and truly are busier,
I’m learning to slow life down.
I’m learning to savor the slow.
We had a slow spring weekend
of sunshine, blossoms, and hammock time,
of cool breezes and open windows,
time to read and to listen.
Maybe it’s because weekends like this are rare
in my neck of the woods,
or it’s because God’s gentle whisper breezed
through my heart,
“This, THIS is a gift, savor every moment,
roll it around in your heart and taste and see
that I am good.”
Oh, the sweetness of the slow weekend has
me craving more.
Hey, harried twin,
here’s my thought for the both of us,
maybe we need to intentionally look for a few
slow moments to savor.
An evening on the porch with the ones we love the most,
or a campfire of hot dogs and s’mores instead
of video games and movies.
I think an evening walk around the neighborhood
with my man or a bike ride with my girl
will taste summer watermelon sweet
to this harried heart.
Care to join me in committing to savoring
some slow time this spring and summer?
I’d love your company!
counting gifts again on a beautiful spring Multitudes on Monday with the gratitude community at Ann’s. Click on over and join in.
For these and so much more, thank YOU LORD!
… a beautiful weekend with two more beautiful girls
… time to savor
… and slow
… and be together.
… a weekend of motorcycle training for the mancub
… and certification he needed for his license endorsement
… time for him to be a man with his dad
… for physical night at the school
… and the opportunity to get sports physicals at a reduced price
… and free sports tickets because my man is a nurse
… for a friend who shared wisdom with my yesterday at church
… and an office who cares
… for a million and more shades of green
… and blossoms everywhere
… and the song of the spring peepers at night
… for a dishwasher again!
… and a dryer that works again!
… and knowing that I can truly live without either
… for a man who loves me more than he can articulate
… and holds me as I fall asleep
… and a God who articulates His love for me more than I can understand
… and who never lets go