It’s been ten months since we moved from Las Vegas, but it still feels like we’re in transition. I’m over at The Mudroom today talking about being in the middle of the wilderness:
“We’re in our mid-thirties with two kids. We’re living with parents while others our age are buying homes and storing away for retirement 30 years down the road or less. We left a home, mild traffic (this is something when Southern California traffic can be hell on earth), and good insurance. We moved back home with the excitement of God doing new things in our lives and a willingness to follow Him wherever He leads us. But the novelty of change soon became dull, and we entered into the long in-between.”
When Kris and I Skyped about me joining the team at Grace Table, we couldn’t believe how much our hearts had already been aligned. It was as though we were old friends who had been searching for the other and found home in each other’s stories. I’m so grateful and honored that I get to share the space she created and to have my first post be up today.
We go down this path a million times a day, and it takes me all those times for me to see beyond my anger, his disobedience, and what’s fair. For a heaven-sent second, everything slows down. His screaming quiets in my head, and I finally perceive what is good and profound through the loud fog of disciplining him. The generosity of his arms reaching out to me first, the relentless desire to reconnect – it’s the gospel, the hospitality of reconciliation.
The responsibilities keep piling on. The calendar gets filled up with more events. We’re moving from one thing to another with barely a moment to breathe. I run the family around from home to church, on errands, on playdates, to Target and back. Everything is always rushed. My temper is short, and my patience is never in stock. Everyone peeves me. I’m not myself anymore. I become only the things I do- the roles I play- and it’s suffocating me.
Writing is the first thing to go when I get busy. It’s hard to justify creative work when there’s laundry to be done, when the kids need attention, when someone at church has to be ministered to. “It’s just a hobby,” I tell myself. “It’s not important” or “It’s not as important as…” The lies start to pour in and make more sense than all the true things I’ve felt in my gut about my gift with words…