This week is an adventure. One of my very besties is off with her husband at youth camp, so I am here with her sweet little bit, Dylen, who is a two year old with just as much energy as an entire bus full of teenagers. I know this, because at 6:30 a.m. I am starting my day with a tiny voice, with big plans, shouting from her pack n play, “I awake now Ms. Tiff!”
And awake she is. Her energy and simplicity are things to envy. She is curious and busy. Concentrated and spontaneous. She loves to sing and dance, and Disney princesses. With her bow on her head she bobs around, embraces the constant undivided attention she gets in this house…and every other.
I have forgotten what it is like to be around a little one. My “baby” is seven and is the size of an eleven year old–and still acts 2, his brother and sisters would say. We probably would’ve had one more, but a year ago I had to have a hysterectomy, so that made our choice for us.
I am reminded of the constant changing seasons in life. The moment we grow comfortable in the warmth, the winds gently blow in, giving us a warning of the cold season to come. At times, we are hit with a mountainous blizzard, that piles on top of our lives, putting pressure on our hearts, making it hard to breathe.
We move in and out of our seasons, much like the waves on the beach. No real rhythm, no particular way to live expectantly of the next crash. We simply must sit on the shoreline, with our mouths closed, bracing ourselves and waiting.
The old me would try and stay in one season as long as possible and fight the changes of weather.and when the rain fell or the sun came out, I would lament over the season lost, the opportunities missed, the regrets. I hated to let go, and was fearful to move on.
Now, I simply feel the crash of waves hit me, and enjoy the rush of the water leaving me. I know ther ewill be another that soon follows, and will refresh me, or be sand filled and irritating. Either way, there is always the hope. The hope of a new wave, a new season, a new sprout of life pushing through the hard-iced land.
I am embracing my season. I have visions of seasons to come, and am excited about all God will do. But for now, I am learning to be content in the moment. Knowing God will sustain me in the winter and give me new life when my heart is ready.