Things I am Trying to Accept

Here are a few things I am trying to accept.

My season. 

In many ways I love my season of life. Mike and I are empty-nesters, something that took awhile to arrive and so sometimes feels very foreign. I don’t have toddlers that I am sneaking out of bed to grab some quiet alone time before their feet hit the floor. Sometimes that is delightful and sometimes its an ache.

My days have a different order and cadence. A changed everyday quality. I can get outside everyday and take a walk or ride my bike or look for the moon, even with work, it is mostly on an unhurried schedule. Our family size grows and shrinks sometimes within a day. Holidays especially look different now that we’re back to the two of us.

Again sometimes a delight and sometimes an ache.

My pace.

When I was mama to four littles under my rooftop, our big family life moved at a quick clip. I often needed a different pace as did at least one of my children. We needed space between things to recharge and let creativity bubble up. I often fought for that quiet space against all the good things we could be out there doing.

Living slower and quieter is both how I am made and a calling. Even decisively knowing that (thank you autism and double heart by-pass in Mike), keeping to a slower, quieter, more centered way of being with space between doings constantly needs to be returned to because some seasons include more travel, a big project, a move, or extra care-taking of a child, a parent,or each other. And I can be swayed by our noisy, fast-paced culture and my own desires to not be left behind.

My age. 

I am not talking only about a number, but changes. Some of that falls into wondering where all the time went. But my body is different too, inside and outside. Outside. Red hair, when did your fire fade? But then inside too, which makes me slower, more tender and fiery all at once - to which I smile through tears. 

Things I’m losing.

Mike’s mama is 90 and falling. My parents are in their 80’s. I can see in them both a quickness and slowing, a thinning and their burdens. My brother-in-law, Henry, has two cancers now and has been given a time.  Even if you quadruple it, it’s not enough. I am brokenhearted for my sister-law and their two girls and my mother-in law. He is a stellar husband, father and servant son-in-law. I’m heartbroken for us, his congregation, and the world without him.

We are all doing the best we can. 

I heard Brené Brown say this is true and express her honest resistance to believing it. By my grumbly insides, I seem to share some of her resistance. Still, I want us to be for each other.

I’m wearied by all the mowing down of the tall poppies. Why aren’t we our brothers’ keeper? Why can’t we give more generously and not keep score?

I am convinced that our struggle to love each other deeply and generously is a reflection of our own fight to truly love ourselves on our worst days and our resistance to accept God’s generous love without trying to earning it.

It helped me when Brown explained that we are all doing our best in ways we are capable of - for now. That leaves room for mercy, growth, and boundaries.

Accepting at this point means welcoming with open arms, being nimble and gracious as I go.

Day 5 of the writing prompt #goodnessgrounded.