This is a bit of a heads up. That when the facet turns on it might stay on, and do more than drip. Those words and the writing and the overflow of the heart. I wouldn’t blame you if you pressed delete or unsubscribe or walked away from words when they start flowing more frequently. I have begun sometime in 2012 it seems to write daily. Certainly I hope you’re blessed and not the dictionary definition of its opposite. Yesterday I wrote here, of my word for 2013. I am inspired by it. It sort of showed up on my doorstep like a lost dog.
It just happens. And in some seasons more intensely and profoundly than others. This growing up. This learning.
We did a lot of it in my home yesterday. And we will do more today.
And it’s more pronounced with one of my little tribe members. But whenever we have spikes in learning and growing, I am stretched and changed too. So it’s more pronounced with ME. And I need growing and stretching and refining. God knows I need to be the one on the potter’s wheel. I am wet clay in His hands.
I need to learn to love it. Because after the trauma and drama and when the dust settles and we all exhale and the learning starts to stick, there is new growth. Buds of change on the way to maturing.
Oh how I long to learn the art of growing up with grace with them.
Some lessons hurt and sting and bite and nearly draw blood. Well that’s how it feels when there are tickets from cars with lights on top that total two hundred and something dollars. It hurts to count. And the government doesn’t like to negotiate pale blue tickets.
It’s easy to scoop them up. It’s hard to let them scoop themselves up. There is tension in the two.
And then the news, so terrible and horrific in its level of violent evil comes on. The local news. And I lock the door at the horror of it all and we huddle around the fire, feeling loved and safe. And the lessons dim a bit and I know the violations and transgressions could be worse.
What part of parenting and growing up was easy? Are we there yet?
And I think of the grace I am extended daily from The One, who made me. But he has gently and lovingly taught me and stretched me. Oh to parent like He does. I made it hard. I fought and dug my heels in and made the easy more difficult.
When the page on the paper day counter turns, I could panic. And I could begin to count in weeks or even days, the ones remaining under my roof. Eighteen year olds grow and fly and leave. If all goes as planned.
There is much remaining on my momma’s plate to teach.
And in that there is much for me to learn.
I would do well to explore the art of release, the art of patience, and the art of careful attention to detail.
We have a few months until the Spring and I refuse to waste the days I have to learn and grow with him.
He is teaching me the art of growing up.
And there are days I want to run and hide and hand the reigns to another. But there are days when the joy and growth explode like laughter from the belly of the child. I prefer laughter and joy.
There is beauty in the process. There is joy in the pain. And there is relief in the release. And comfort in the fact that I am never truly alone. Never am I without a helpmate.
I am learning the art of release, leaning into The One that knows and loves me all the days of these tense days of parenting.
The road to adulthood is paved with rocks and rubble at times. The road of adulthood is paved with shards of broken objects at times.
He smoothes the path and goes before and is my rearguard.
There is endless joy and loud alleluia in that.
I hope that today is full of laughter. I hope today is filled with singing.
Growing up. Its an art not a science. And on my knees is a good place to make some art worthy of offering to Him.
And honestly, we are on the verge of making ticket collecting an art form I’d rather not venture into.