Life is full of seasons. This season is full of the unknown; it's chalk-full of change and figuring it out. I can't say that's all a bad thing, and I know that you have to look up and trust in the Lord. Doesn't mean that it's always the easiest thing to do in the flesh. There are times that you have to have more grace and dig deep to find that tucked away sense of joy. This season will ebb and flow and eventually shift into another. These are things I know. So for now I will keep praying to see the details: "God reveal yourself in the details." And some days he shows me the memories of good times and some days I am still haunted by my lack of a last goodbye.
I am no longer surprised to hear anyone shrieking, “Mommmm” at me. In fact, now, anytime, I hear the delicate squeak of a toddler crooning, “Mommy,” my head whips around to take stock of my two little ducklings. It's natural. It's normal. It's a piece of who I am. I am flawed and far from the perfect matriarch of my cluster of four, but I try. I try to be the mom that my boys will be proud of; the one they will someday thank for raising them to their walk. I aim to be the wife that is worthy of honor and respect. Scott Wilson from the Oaks Fellowship in Red Oak said that once in a sermon I listened to, and it's stuck with me from that point on: “be worthy of respect.” That's the type of woman I want to be when my feet reach the ground each morning. I long to be worthy of respect.
And yet, I some days, I sit down and reflect to see that I was too impatient, too shrill, too self-focused to have been the best I could be. I am emotionally, physically, and socially exhausted. This holiday is such a powerful one, and one spent nearly every year with my step dad. The hole in my heart feels gaping this weekend. As we tackled new projects and to do lists full of “handy” tasks, I missed that I had never fully respected the craftsmanship that his hands were capable of. I missed that I had never appreciated the ease with which he could tackle anything. I missed his company in the small town and watching him play with his grandsons. I just missed him. More than I knew I would.
I asked my husband what time of year he felt like he missed his parents the most. “Christmas. I miss my mom at Christmas.” His dad has been gone for two decades now, and it hurts him to realize that he can no longer hear the sound of his dad's voice in his ears. He can't place his dad's smell in the traces of his mind. I hate those pangs of loss that I now can relate to in the makeup of my husband.
Easter is supposed to be full of joy and blessings, and don't get it wrong: we are blessed. I am lucky, lucky to have two handsome boys that call me, “mom.” I have my own mom who is tougher than nails and softer than I ever knew. She is incredible and breakable and changed. She is impressive, and I love her more in this year than I have in all the ones combined. I have a husband who has proven that in a storm he is the shelter. Sam has stepped up in unexplainable ways to shift his soul in a position of “being there.” He has always had a gift for taking care of others. His listening skills are superior, and yet, this season has revealed to me another layer of this man I thought that I could know no more about. He can sway and bend with deftly maneuvers; he is 100% the linebacker in our family’s life. It's like all this time I knew him to be an athlete, but now, I am seeing him in action: seeing the injuries be ignored, seeing the way he tackles the opponent, seeing the way he fights for his team. Y'all, it's insane that God can take the worst moments, the saddest times, and use them to shape your views.