a fleeting hour.
My life is a moment,
which swiftly escapes me.
O my God, you know that
on earth I have only today
to love you.
-Saint Therese of Lisieux
Part One
About eleven years ago, I was training teachers in rural
Uganda. I was single, in my 30’s, and I
loved the work, but my heart also yearned to have my own family. One night, I looked up at the stars (which
are especially breathtaking in a place with no electricity), and voiced that longing:
“God, I just want to be a wife and a mother someplace quiet and beautiful.”
And, it happened. There
are obviously a lot more details to the story, but here I am. I’m a wife and a mother someplace quiet and
beautiful. What I didn’t expect was how difficult
it was going to be. Being a mother is
the hardest thing I’ve ever done. On a
regular basis, I struggle to get up in the morning because I’m not sure I have
what it takes to give my kids what they need for another full day.
“It goes so fast.
Cherish every moment. They’ll be
gone before you know it.”
I hear that at least once a week. I’m one hundred percent sure it’s true and
the person telling me knows what they’re talking about. I’m also one hundred percent sure they’ve
forgotten how challenging this season can be.
Since I hear that phrase so often, I’ve been trying to
come to peace with it. There’s got to be
a way to absorb the heart behind the message and ditch the rest. What I’ve settled on is this:
There is beauty in every season.
I’ve heard it called a glimmer; something that sparks joy. I’ve heard it called being present, or noting
gratitude. For me, it’s the daily acknowledgement
that every season has things that are special and things that are tough. Sometimes, any given situation could hold both
the good and the hard. It looks like
changing my daughter’s diaper, making eye contact, and repeating a silly rhyme that
involves motions to do with her. So, on
the one hand, there’s a poopy diaper.
But on the other hand, there’s a beautiful daily connection point that
will not always be there. It looks like
taking pictures of my kids playing in a box and posting it on Facebook. It looks like holding my almost-too-big son
on my lap at church, memorizing the lines of his profile, taking in his
smell.
Little by little, moment by moment, paying attention to
the bits of beauty that are unique to this specific time of life is saving
me. It’s allowing me to access joy. I’m savoring this time not because someone in
the grocery store made me feel guilty for wishing I could have a break from my
kids, but because the beauty has always been here. I’m just choosing to be a part of it more
fully.
Part Two
As I have struggled to find my footing in motherhood, I
have been slowly losing my own mother to dementia. Over the years, she has lost much of her independence
and even her personality is different in many ways. I’ve had good support in processing the grief
that comes with adapting to these changes.
When I visit, I try to help my
dad with caregiving. There are some
uncomfortable tasks that I’m not used to, but I’m growing in helping with new
things. And guess what?
There is beauty in every season.
Even in this. Life
doesn’t have to be sweet or easy to be beautiful. One time I was helping with a particularly challenging
clean-up job after my parents had a rough night. I had a realization that it wasn’t bothering
me. It was as if God was with me, giving
me some supernatural peace and ease to do what needed to be done. When I help my mom, I feel the same way. I grieve that she can’t do things for
herself, but I also feel closer to her through the intimacy of things like
washing and brushing her hair like she used to do for me. I believe God has a purpose for each day of
her life, whether or not I understand what that is through the lens of
dementia. Even if she’s not the same, we
still have laughs, we still have beauty.
Part Three
Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, “He has made everything beautiful
in its time.”
It goes on, “He has also set eternity in the human heart…”
While I’m learning to see the beauty in each breath of
time I’m allowed here on earth, there’s so much more. My heart holds the expectation of
eternity. God somehow put eternity into
my heart. Maybe that’s why I crave the roses
amongst the thorns of life. How beautiful
must heaven be? How beautiful must my
Savior be? How good, and how kind?
I can read a book under a big blanket, all cozy with my
kids, and savor this time that I have with little ones. What is the eternity part of that moment
though? I’m wondering even as I type
this. When my mom and I are chatting on
a walk, and I hear a much-repeated anecdote but focus on the love behind it
rather than getting annoyed, what is heaven’s perspective then?
I find peace in knowing that God is the author of all
life and He has it all in His capable hands.
In the beauty of each season, I also acknowledge that this life here is
not all there is. There is eternal life
ahead with God, for all who trust Him - with beauty far beyond what I’ve seen
so far, but exactly what my heart has been looking for.
