Five Minute Friday

I pulled in the driveway this morning from taking the girls to school. I spotted a bird at the tip-top of the neighbor’s oak, perched and ready to fly away.  I couldn’t move to go inside and yet didn’t have a reason to stay either.  I waited until he swooped into our yard, his movement sparking my own.

As I sat, I thought of the week, ready to call it a terrible one, and yet couldn’t.  It’s been a week of highs—friends visiting from out of town last-minute, sharing a table of new recipes and family gathering around to celebrate births.  But it’s been a hard one too—unexpected ER visits, stomach viruses, tears of fear and longing for friends.  It hasn’t been terrible, but it has been terribly high and low—a week of through sickness and health, till death do us part and stripes of motherhood sewn on.

I sit at the top like the neighbor’s bird–waiting, perched and ready to fly.

I zipped my jacket over my sleeveless, fluttering top and headed down the stairs to the swings.  “Come swing me, come swing me,” they said. It’s work but it’s work that has an end date and I want to soak it all in and do it well until then.

The little one barks as Scott emerges from the screen door with a bag of seed in his hands.  “It’s just Daddy, Bella,” I say.  The girls are loading their legs on top of one another across the swings and they tell me it’s called banana and I should push them like that so I do.  I watch as Scott fills the bird feeders he’s hung from the swing set.  The birds will empty them in a few days and we have no reason to feed them except it brings us joy to see them.

Lexi hops off her swing and runs to Bella, leaning down to talk to her like a  baby, “You’re so cute, yes you are, Bella,” she says as she ruffles her behind the ears.

I hear Emma starting to complain because no one is paying attention to her.  “Mommy, Daddy, let me swing you guys!”  I think of the squeezing plastic against my hips and insist that I don’t want pushed.

Scott and I sit in the glider around the fire pit where he’s just started the flames and we tell her to push us here.  She doesn’t think it’s a great idea so the girls climb in the trampoline and jump and jump and yell, “Daddy, look! Daddy, look!”

I watch Tucker follow Scott like a shadow across the lawn and see my ordinary evening.  Against the tide of the world’s cries, I long for the ordinary.  What did you do this evening, they’ll ask, and I’ll say nothing, but really mean everything.

Work is just that–work–and it’s to be expected.  But this week, the whole summer even, has provided one of the most challenging of my career.  Between a high visibility, high pressure project and managing an intern–or any person–for the first time, my brain has been in overdrive leaving little for any creative, thoughtful adventures.

The girls’ sitter is on vacation and instead of finding backup, I decided to have them home with me while Scott worked. Cue the boredom and consequential fighting.

And how about we had Emma’s new expander mid-week which is causing more difficulty in eating and just being.  Yes, a child in pain is just what this week needed.

Finishing projects from the water leak remodels have been all but stopped but hang heavy on my to-do list.

And how about we throw in some sleepless nights with a few night terrors from a child and all night play sessions by a certain puppy.

I don’t mean to complain.  It’s all just life and all blessings but I do feel a bit broken this week.  I know enough to know I’m not alone.  This summer has thrown many of us curve balls and tight schedules, leaving us all a bit broken inside.

This too shall pass, I remind myself.

There’s nothing to be done but leaving the to-do lists and taking extra naps and giving extra hugs and letting in help.  Broken, yes, but left stronger.

We had no solid plans for July 4th yesterday.  Scott disappeared for a few hours in the morning for a bike ride and he was off to work that evening.  I just couldn’t get it together enough to organize a cookout for lunch.

I drove to Starbucks for breakfast and saw a local parade getting ready to take off. When I got home, no one wanted to go.

No one wanted to go for fireworks that night.  I couldn’t even garner interest in riding to go sparklers.

Mid-morning I read about the canon firing downtown.  I asked if the girls wanted to go. Lexi said no and Emma asked me if I wanted to go.  I said I’m fine either way. 

But do you want to go? 

I don’t care, I said, I’ll go if you want to go. 

But do you WANT to go?

If you guys weren’t here, no, I probably wouldn’t go. 

So you wouldn’t be disappointed if we didn’t go?  she asked.

No, I won’t be disappointed. 

Then I don’t want to go.

A beautiful little heart is growing in that one. 

Way more beautiful than any firework we might have missed.

Linked to Five Minute Friday

Writing on “broken” for five minutes without editing with Lisa-Jo.

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I watched the group of girls to my left, all crowded around the two tables.  A few of them eating and laughing and talking.  But one of them with the wiry strawberry blond hair pulled back looked away from the group.  I imagined her thinking she just wanted to go home.  She didn’t look mad, maybe just sad and a little broken.   I wanted to hug her and tell her she should laugh.  She should laugh and she should cry and she should enjoy those girls she was with.

I can’t help but think there was an enemy whispering lies to her.  Telling her they didn’t like her and they must be talking about her and maybe telling her that her parents hated her and that bad grade she got this week must mean she’s stupid and she’d never amount to anything.  I think the enemy is doing that a lot with these teenagers these days.  I’ve listened and watched to the stories just this week and know its true.  He tries to tell them their broken and to give up.

I pray they get it, really get it that maybe they are a little broken but there is hope.  There is One that was broken for them and in all their mess they are valuable and loved.  He has plans for them and those friends are gifts.  He wants them to hear those lies and then remind the enemy of truth.

He delights in me.

He has plans for me.

No weapon formed against me shall prosper.

He wants joy for me.

Remind the enemy of that day he thought Jesus was defeated and then remind him of 3 days later when the gates of hell were busted open and he learned who really was broken and defeated.

I walked away from the strawberry blond and didn’t tell her, didn’t hug her.  Didn’t even try to catch her eyes to smile at her.  Maybe next time I will.  And in the meantime, I’ll remind the enemy just who is broken and where he can go.

End

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