a father's day evening

A quiet night spent at the wildflower preserve.  Hope it was a good Sunday/Father's Day for all!

my father

When I was a little girl, we lived just a few miles from a famous lookout tower which was built as a commemorative monument to George Washington and his army.  My dad and I used to go there together.

It stands 125 feet tall and when you're a little girl, that's a lot of steps - in circular fashion nonetheless - to climb in order to get to the top.

I had a fear of the steps in the monument.  I'm not sure if I was afraid of getting to the top, or the amount of work it would take to get to the top, or the narrowing shape in which the concrete slabs had to be constructed in order to form a circular staircase.  One step too close to the inside and you could take quite a tumble.

I knew at a young age that this was a fear I needed to conquer.  I was determined to make it up those stairs one day.  After seeing my apprehension on our first visit there, my dad didn't try to coerce or convince me to proceed (even though it was an irrational fear) but instead took me on home and waited for the next opportunity.

Some time later, I came to him proudly announcing I was ready.  Patiently he loaded me into the car, took me to the tower, and stood close by while I climbed all of three steps and announced I could go no further that day and was ready to go.  With gentleness he loaded me back in the car, took me home, and waited until the next time I said I was ready.

This sequence of events happened once or twice more, but eventually there was that day of victory when, with my dad following close behind, I made it to the top of the tower.  And from there the view was breathtaking, spectacular; had I let my fear of the climb hold me back I would have never experienced the wonder of being above the trees and being able to see for miles.

My earthly father is gone now, but I have a heavenly Father who does the same kind of thing for me.  When fear threatens to hold me back from something He has planned for me and knows I can do, He doesn't force.  He's eternally patient.  He lets me come around on my own time.  He knows I'll get there eventually, and that when I see the view from His perspective, it'll take my breath away.

I only need to trust Him.

moving on

I sit beside him in the passenger seat, looking over at this six-foot-tall boy who used to be my baby.  My youngest.  My third and final child.  And here I am, sitting in a seat that lacks any sort of controls for this vehicle while his long legs stretch out under the steering wheel.  He accelerates and we get in line to practice for his driver's road test. 

How is it possible that he's driving and I'm not?  How did we get here? His first 17 years are a blur; a smudge of everything pasted together that builds a life which goes way too quickly.  And while I'm happy for him as he grows into his independence, my heart aches for the last bit of dependency he still had on me...running him everywhere he needed to go.

With this new freedom he will have, I will have my own as well.  After raising three children, I won't be beholden to anyone to get them anywhere.  I will have only my own schedule to keep and can do as I please (well, within reason).  My nest is getting emptier, that's for sure.  It's an adjustment.

We give them roots to give them wings.  I loved giving them roots, but still struggle with the wings part.  I suppose that's universal with us moms and comes with the territory.

So to take my mind off it I think I'll plan a trip to the beach....

what to blog about?

A quiet Saturday afternoon.  Cool.  Rainy. Peaceful. No One In Particular Needs Me.
To me that says "writing time." 

Excitedly I gathered my tea, laptop, and other accessories I can't seem to go 15 feet without and got cozy at the table.  This is going to be great, I thought.  Uninterrupted time to post something on my blog.

As my cursor blinked at me every other moment wooing me to hit the keyboard and begin, I thought, "What on earth am I going to write about?"

And then I smiled. 

I having nothing to say.  And I love it.

Too often I have much to get out.  Much that needs to be worked on, discussed, brought up, sorted through.  But when I'm speechless, it's because things are Simple.  Ordinary.  Peaceful.  Strife-less.

And No One In Particular Needs Me.

I audibly sigh and realize I'm thankful, for now, to be without material.  Days of peace are welcome, and God is good - as always - to be providing so faithfully.  Having seen Him in the storm, I know He's present in the calm.   And like grabbing a breath between labor pains,  I need the plain times to soothe my soul because undoubtedly there's something else coming just around the bend.

But until then, I shall enjoy the gift of an ordinary day.