Because everyone loves a good story
Oh, Taste and See
I don’t know about you, but I did plenty of tasting this Thanksgiving. In fact, I sort of used the whole week as a blanket excuse to taste. I know this is a problem that will catch up with me in the (not-so-distant) future, but this wasn’t the time to worry about it. Come to think of it, neither is the rest of this year.
It won’t surprise you to learn that I love food. I consider it to be a treat, a blessing, and means of celebration. And you know what? God designed it that way. Our gracious God, who could have made us photosynthetic, chose instead to put the first man and woman in a garden. He surrounded them with ripe, juicy fruit. He blessed them with an abundance of tastes and textures. And then he came down and walked around the garden with them in the cool of the evening. Adam and Eve could literally taste and see the goodness of God all around.
Turkey, Stuffing, and Beyond
Psalm 34 is chock full of truths about God that make you want to celebrate. It’s the source of the verse, “Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!” While that verse is apropos for a Thanksgiving meal, it’s also talking about the goodness of God in every facet of life. And the rest of the Psalm is just as fitting for this season of gratefulness. Verse 3 says, “Oh, magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together!” For believers, that’s what Thanksgiving is all about. In fact, it’s what every day should be about.
I had the privilege of studying this Psalm with a group of ladies at church last week, and it was encouraging to hear them share about God’s goodness in this passage and in their own lives. I left with the realization of how often I choose worry and complaint over praise and thanks. Considering all the bountiful blessings that God lavishes on me daily, my attitude is the epitome of ingratitude. God deserves much better.
Tune My Heart to Sing Thy Praise
So this Thanksgiving season, I want to redirect my thoughts and my heart. I want my life to exude gratitude. I want His praise to “continually be in my mouth.” Will you join me in meditating on these beautiful verses? I’ve put only the first bit of the Psalm here, but you can also check out the whole chapter for yourself! And if you’d like to share something you’re thankful for in the comments below, please feel free. Let us exalt his name together!
So from Past Watchful Dragons, happy Thanksgiving, friends.
Psalm 34
1I will bless the Lord at all times;
his praise shall continually be in my mouth.
2 My soul makes its boast in the Lord;
let the humble hear and be glad.
3 Oh, magnify the Lord with me,
and let us exalt his name together!
4 I sought the Lord, and he answered me
and delivered me from all my fears.
5 Those who look to him are radiant,
and their faces shall never be ashamed.
6 This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him
and saved him out of all his troubles.
7 The angel of the Lord encamps
around those who fear him, and delivers them.
8 Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!
Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!
Mom Guilt
Do you know what I love about being a mom? Nearly everything.
I love the hugs and snuggles. I love story time and summer strolls. I love my baby’s button nose and the way my toddler says the most hilarious things. I love it when they learn to smile, laugh, give kisses, and finally say “I love you too.” There is so, so, so much to enjoy about this stage of life.
Sure, I’ll admit that being a stay-at-home mom was never one of my top priorities. Maybe that’s why it didn’t happen until I hit the ripe old age of 35. But now that I’m in the thick of it, I’m thankful. God knew just what I needed: two little angels (who occasionally turn into gremlins or worse) to help hasten my sanctification and fill up my cup with joy and love every morning, noon, and night.
Especially night.
A Matter of Perspective
However.
Can I just be honest for a moment? Do you promise not to think badly of me when you read what I’m about to admit? Ok, well, here goes: sometimes I feel bummed out, frustrated, and at my wit’s end as I raise these offspring of mine. I know I’m not alone in this. Every parent has been there. But even in the middle of feeling depleted and frustrated, I feel guilty for feeling depleted and frustrated.
After all, they’re small for such a short time. Am I wishing their childhoods away when I feel worn down, spread thin, and aggravated? Am I wasting these precious moments when I focus on the messes, problems, tears, and needs instead of stepping back and enjoying the big picture? I should always feel thankful for the privilege of raising these little ones, so I should never heave a sigh or grit my teeth or wish it was already bed time. That means I’m wasting an opportunity to savor today with my babies, and that’s very bad. Right?
The Deeper Question
So as you can see, I have a problem. I love my children more than life itself and want them to stay small and sweet and squishable forever, and yet I find myself fairly frazzled from time to time, wishing it wasn’t pouring rain while both kids scream in my ears and it’s still four hours until dinner. But then I feel guilty. They’ll be grown so soon that I’d better enjoy even this moment.
So what’s the balance between feeling sad that my babies are growing too quickly and feeling frustrated that I just found a turd on the record player? (True story. I still don’t know how it got there.) I guess my deeper question is, can I ever feel frustrated when things are hard, or will I look back in later years and realize that my response wasted moments that could have been sweet?
A Day in the Life
I’m not talking about blowing up at my kids or actually wishing we were years down the road. Of course I’d regret that. I’m just talking about the aggravation I feel when everything is falling apart all at once. Like when I love my kids dearly and want to savor every moment but can’t wrap my head around how long it takes just to keep the house running as I help to two crying children while making dinner and wiping spit up and crumbs off the floor and accidentally checking the clock every five minutes to see if it’s bedtime yet.
Those are the moments I feel depleted and bummed out. Is that wrong? Because I often feel condemned for these occasional, unavoidable, completely understandable moments of frustration.
Old News
Now, this is when some older folks—like, strangers in the grocery store, mind you—tend to take a deep breath and launch into how much I’ll miss these days when my kids are grown. They’ll tell me how their kids were in diapers just yesterday, and now they have kids of their own. They’ll say that they’ve been through the messes and tantrums and sleepless nights, but they’d give anything to go back and do it all again. They’ll tell me how the days are long but the years are short.
But do you know what? That doesn’t really help. It doesn’t help because I already know that. I know with certainty that I will miss (nearly) everything about this stage and that before I know it, my kids will be in school, then college, then grown and gone. And furthermore, the thought of my kids growing up breaks my heart even as I look at my 9-month-old daughter. She’s already too big. Trust me, I would stop the clock in a heartbeat if I could.
And also…
A Night in the Life
And also last night I got up every two hours all night long so I could nurse my fussy, teething, growing baby, and I got up two extra times to tuck the Star Wars blanket around my toddler again because he just couldn’t manage to pull it up without me. And then I was tired. And then the kids were going absolutely nuts today—both of them crying about everything, getting hurt, feeling irritable, needing me to wipe their booties and put food in their mouths and tuck them into bed so I can do it all over again tomorrow. Or in two hours.
And yet I love them more than anything. I would die for them without thinking twice. And I’m tired and occasionally frazzled. Is it possible to feel both emotions without feeling guilty about the second one?
I’m All Right…Really
Now, I do realize that this is all a bit dramatic. Sleep deprivation has heightened the significance of my emotions. I know this is just a phase, and a short one in the grand scheme of things. I haven’t mentioned the immense burden on single parents or the immense blessing my husband is to me and our kids. I haven’t told you how my wonderful family usually comes over once a week to play with my kids or how my beautiful friends check up on me and set up play dates. And I haven’t talked about the strength that God gives me moment by moment, diaper by diaper. Parenting without all this would be more than I could bear.
And sometimes just making it to the end of the day feels like more than I can bear too. But you know what? I really am all right with that. I’ve been a mama long enough to know that tomorrow will be better. Or at least it might be, and that hope is enough to get me out of bed again. There will be ups and downs, days when the kids have a blast and days when they really struggle. Me too. But I fully intend to enjoy every kind of day and as many moments as possible.
The Golden Rule in my Golden Years
But I also hope that, when I’m old and gray, I remember this feeling. I hope the memory fuels me to listen instead of talk. To sympathize instead of offering advice. To give that tired mama a few hours of free time instead of another adage. To put myself in her shoes and show her the kind of love that so, so many are showing me today. Because that’s what she really wants.
Friends, I usually have a tidy way to wrap up my posts, but today I must break tradition. This is merely musing, a sneak peek into the crazy tangle inside my head. Sorry about that. If anyone has wisdom or insight to add, I’m all ears, despite a few of my previous paragraphs. And if any of you would enjoy playing with an adorable infant and an energetic toddler for a few hours, unlock your front door. We’re on our way.
Only kidding.
Kind of.
Lord of Late Summer: A Poem
While I’m sad that summer is coming to a close, there’s still so much to rejoice in. I was reminded of this on a bike ride through the woods a few weeks ago. Creation’s symphony reaches a crescendo in late summer, and I tried to capture a few stanzas myself. (Ten points to Gryffindor if you take note of the musical motif throughout the poem!)
Grasshoppers praising raise a rasping summer song;
cicada-chorus buzz to long crescendo then rattle to rest.
Hot above the hush, unending chant of katydid percussion and
how-scant crickets chime staccato with tiny shouts
singing hallelujah, hallelujah to the Lord of late summer.
Doves perch above on high lines, mourning the fall from treble-holy Maker
while all songbirds chip, chirp, warble, glide, and gladly feed on seed provided.
Bumblebees, humming, sip the sunny, brilliant blooms
and bullfrogs rumble, booming out annunciation to creation,
singing hallelujah, hallelujah to the Lord of late summer.
Wood wind whispers to me through the trees,
rustling rich-green tambourine leaves that flutter, clap, and jingle as I pass.
I sing, my feet softly stamping log-fallen earth, clay on damp clay,
as Spirit-wind symphony sustains my soul aloft, refrain of rebirth
singing hallelujah, hallelujah to the Lord of late summer.
A Contrast of Classics: Leading Ladies
If you read my post last time, you’ll remember that I’m embarking on an Austenesque journey by contrasting Pride and Prejudice with Emma. I recently re-read both novels and was as delighted by Pride and Prejudice as I was disenchanted with Emma. Why? Well…that’s the question I wanted to answer. My opinions were strong but scattered, and I wanted to bring order to the chaos.
I figured I wasn’t alone in this feeling, either, and I wanted to see where others fall on the love/hate spectrum. Surely I’m not the only one to wish I could hug Elizabeth and backhand Emma, right? …Right? Whether you agree, disagree, or agree to disagree agreeably, I hope you’ll enjoy the posts as much as I’m enjoying putting them together!
ENDEARING AND EXASPERATING
So I’ve spent a ton of time thinking about and writing this post, which (predictably) produced twice as much content as you’ll want to read in one sitting. That’s why I chose to split it in half, giving you a bit of description and evaluation this week and saving their flaws and redeeming qualities for next time. And for those of you who feel like reading Austen puts you in a mental corset, don’t despair! I’ll write a miscellaneous post before moving on from there.
Now that you know the plan, let’s look at the leading ladies. Both are young, lovely, the favorite of their father, and rather hasty in coming to conclusions. But that’s pretty much where the similarities end. Each one’s privileges, family fortunes, habits, interests, and personalities are quite distinct from the other’s. While this speaks well of Austen as a writer, it was tough for me as a reader. Maybe it’s because I love Elizabeth Bennet so dearly that I dislike Emma Woodhouse so vehemently. But I hope to give a (relatively) objective analysis of each to see why I infinitely prefer Elizabeth both as a person and a character.
ELIZABETH: MORE THAN “A PAIR OF FINE EYES”
Poor Elizabeth. She comes from a pretty ridiculous family. I won’t steal from my upcoming post about the characters, but suffice it to say that most of them are absurd. Jane is the best of them, and she’s so sweet that Elizabeth could get diabetes just from being around her. Mrs. Bennet’s head has enough vacancy to fit all of Netherfield inside with room to spare. Kitty, Lydia, and even Mary aren’t much better. Mr. Bennet is sensible, but what good is that if he doesn’t do anything profitable with his sense? Alas. Poor, dear Elizabeth.
And yet she emerges from this quagmire of cringeworthiness unscathed and untarnished. She manages to remain (nearly) the only reasonable character in the whole of Hertfordshire. How is this possible? Behold my theory: there’s no doubt that she inherited wit and humor from her father since both were MIA on the maternal side. From her mother Elizabeth seemed to inherit nothing but a “pair of fine eyes” and a pretty face. But Elizabeth also benefitted from her mother’s foibles; from them she built up an immunity to aggravation. Her enjoyment of good books and fresh air did the rest. And so a diamond was formed amidst the coal mine of Longbourn.
EMMA: LESS THAN PERFECTION
While Emma’s family is significantly smaller and less hectic than Elizabeth’s, I would have found it even harder to handle. Emma lives alone with her widower father since her older sister is married and gone. But her father…oh boy. Mr. Woodhouse would drive me crazy more than even Mrs. Bennet would have. She may fall prey to self-induced “spasm” at times, but Mr. Woodhouse is the willing victim of every ailment he can conjure, even imposing his preferences on everyone else. And to make matters worse, Emma is obliged to cater to him. If there’s one thing that makes me grit my teeth (besides sleep, apparently), it’s a hypochondriac being catered to.
Furthermore, his obscenely-positive opinion of Emma does her no favors. In his eyes, dear Emma is perfect. That is not a recipe for a healthy child. But even more shockingly, Mr. Woodhouse is not alone in that opinion; several of Emma’s friends seem to think she hung the moon as well. Not surprisingly, Emma doesn’t spend much energy disagreeing with her fan club. I’m sure it would be tempting to give credence to a group of cheerleaders, but a sensible girl should spend a few moments in introspection now and then. Otherwise she may be confronted with the stinging reality later on.
ELIZABETH: EASY TO LOVE
So Emma Woodhouse is a far cry from perfection, but Elizabeth Bennet isn’t faultless either. What makes her so much more enjoyable? Let me count the ways. I think it’s her complex mix of penetration and patience, insight and simplicity, humor and earnestness. Also, I admire her love of walking and reading.
And have you noticed her ability to take things in stride? It’s a mark of maturity to stay level-headed despite trying situations. Silly things? Ridiculous things? Difficult? Flattering? Insulting? She is (usually) able to keep her head and react in a becoming way. And her classy responses aren’t just a difference between “back then and now-a-days;” her own mother and sisters are proof of that. A lack of elegance is easy to spot, even through Regency-era dialogue.
ELIZABETH: EASY TO LAUGH WITH
But one of my favorite Elizabethan traits is her sense of humor. She’s able to observe the ridiculous and glean enjoyment from it without being too uncharitable in the process. This is a trait she shares with her father, both genetically and situationally. I wish I could have seen the looks that she and her father exchanged when Mr. Collins first came to supper. Even her exchanges with (and about) Mr. Darcy are laced with good humor.
See, the wonderful thing is that you get to laugh with Elizabeth. Her wit adds sparkle to every page. Even when she’s wrong, you can easily understand and forgive her. Because she’s charitable to others, we readers feel charitable toward her.
EMMA: HARD TO FORGIVE
On the other hand, I have a very hard time feeling charitable toward Emma. She to whom life has handed not lemons but roses—she is much harder for me to forgive. I’m so frustrated at her foibles that I can find very little joy in the story since, well, she’s the story. Thankfully, now that some time has elapsed since I finished the book, my feelings have mellowed a bit. I still wouldn’t rate Emma in my list of Top 50 Favorite Books, but my opinion is less abrasive than it was initially. As evidence, here’s a note I jotted down just after finishing the book:
“Emma is so thoroughly aggravating as to be very nearly contemptible. Seeing her smug pride, pompous judgments, and obtuse self-evaluation continue unabated for the majority of the book is like eating your way through a bag of kitty litter in hopes of finding a toy at the bottom. The toy is there in the form of Mr. Knightley’s verbal wallop on Box Hill and Emma’s resulting penitence, but one wonders if the prize was worth the misery.”
Yikes.
REDEMPTION MUST WAIT
As loth as I am to leave you with that mental picture, I know you’ll thank me for saving the rest until next time. I promise that I do have some lovely and redeeming things to say about Emma, and I have some critical opinions about Elizabeth too. I’d love to hear your opinions, too, so feel free to drop a comment! Until next time, adieu!
A Contrast of Classics: Pride and Prejudice and Emma
If you’ve read this blog for very long, then there’s no doubt that you know what I like. I tend to wear my preferences on my sleeve (or my tee shirts, as the case may be). If you had to answer a multiple choice question about me, I’m sure you’d pass with no problem.
Which of the following does Emily not enjoy:
A. J.R.R. Tolkien
B. C.S. Lewis
C. Star Wars
D. Sports
See? You’ve already got a 4.0 in my class without even trying.
But did you know that I also enjoy Jane Austen? That may not surprise you since I’m bookish, but then again it may surprise you since I’ve never mentioned her in nearly three years of posting. But there it is: I like (some) Austen.
For Shame
If your eyebrows went up at the qualifying word in parentheses, fret not. I’ll explain myself, beginning with why I’m just now breaking my Austen silence. I was recently inspired to read (or re-read) all the works of Jane Austen. What turned my interest away from yet another perusal of The Silmarillion or Perelandra? Well, as much as I hate to admit it, it was a movie—and a pretty corny movie at that. I watched The Jane Austen Book Club, a 2007 film based on a novel by the same name. What motivated me wasn’t stellar acting or thrilling dialogue. Frankly, it was the feeling of shame that I wasn’t able to recognize more of the references to Austen’s novels. And for me, guilt is a pretty effective propellant.
Here I am with a Bachelor’s degree in English Education, having taught British Literature for eight years, and I’ve only read two of Austen’s novels. I’ve listened to one or two more on audiobook, but for me, things tend to go in one ear and out the other. Words that come in through my eyes stick around a lot longer. So the fact that I didn’t understand the allusions to Mansfield Park and didn’t laugh at the Sense and Sensibility jokes made me determined to be a better student of Austen.
Hold Your Tomatoes, Please
I’d already read Pride and Prejudice and Emma several times, but I decided to start with them anyway. The others could wait until I’d whet my appetite for Austen. I tackled Pride and Prejudice first. It not only held up to my memory of its merits, but it also exceeded my expectations. I love that book. Then I cracked open my old college copy of Emma. It also held up to my memory—I remember disliking it in college, and I disliked it again.
Now, if you’re a diehard you can feel free to heckle me. I may deserve it. All I ask is that you hear me out before disowning me entirely. I plan to write a mini-series on the contrasts between these two books, not just to defend my position but to discover it as well. I wanted to like Emma as much as I love Pride and Prejudice, but I just couldn’t. Why are the characters and plot of one book so lovable while the others are so aggravating? We’ll dive into these questions and more in the upcoming posts.
A Glimpse into the Future
I resisted the urge to dive right in to a discussion of the characters today. I wanted to give you a chance to blow the dust off of your copies of the novels and give them a read. Or listen to the audiobooks. Or (in a pinch) at least watch the movies. Get familiar with the stories so you can better enjoy, agree with, or be offended by my upcoming posts. Here’s what you can look forward to:
- Endearing and Exasperating: The Heroines
- A Cavalcade of Personality: The Characters
- Two Comedies of Errors: The Stories
- Just Flawed Enough: The Takeaway
Until next time, enjoy some Austen! I’ll be plugging along in Sense and Sensibility while carefully avoiding any movies along the lines of The Herman Melville Book Club. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
Make America Wild Again
“Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul alike.”
So penned naturalist John Muir in his book The Yosemite. In the mid-1800’s, Muir lived in a still-wild America. People of all ages spent time outside just for the sheer enjoyment of it. During his lifetime and partly because of his influence, the National Park Service was born. His love for nature became the theme of his writings, and his legacy has inspired millions to savor the grandeur of the great outdoors. While I wouldn’t recommend going to Muir for theology, I would whole-heartedly recommend taking his advice to get outside. God made nature for us to enjoy, and that can’t happen if we never peel ourselves out of our recliners.
Riding Alone into the Sunset
Recently I was out riding my bike through the nature center in my neighborhood. It was a gorgeous evening—mild temperature, pretty sunset, deer timidly grazing in the weeds, geese roosting near the pond. The air was still, and the bugs were minimal. It was the perfect evening for a bike ride, a stroll with the dog, or a romp with the kids. As I pedaled under a canopy of leaves and out into the vivid pink of the sunset sky, do you know what I was thinking?
“Where is everybody?”
One Perk of a Pandemic
2020 wasn’t a stellar year. You know that. You were there. Most aspects of society suffered as a result of the virus. But I can think of one benefit: there were a lot more people outside. I remember walking through the very same nature center last spring, and it was teeming with people! I had no idea so many people in our neighborhood had dogs…or kids, for that matter. People came out in droves because, well, there was nothing else to do.
Kids were burnt out on screens because everything, including school, had gone virtual. Adults were burnt out on screens because many were working remotely. And, frankly, many families were probably pretty burnt out on each other, too. The great outdoors offered a change of scenery, some fresh air, and a little more elbow room. Whatever the motive, people were outside enjoying nature, and it made my heart happy.
The True Opiate of the Masses
But things are back to normal now, and when it comes to time spent outdoors, that’s not necessarily a good thing. Most people just don’t seem interested in coming outside. As I walk or bike through my neighborhood in the evening, I can see into people’s front windows. Don’t worry; I’m not creeping. Not much is visible from the road, but there’s one thing I notice about almost every house: the TV is on.
The blue light of mammoth flat screens floods the living rooms and glares out into the street. Basketball games, action movies, reality TV, infomercials, and other drivel numbs the American mind after a long day. Hey, I can relate to the desire to decompress. After my kids go to bed, I want to check out for a while. Sometimes I do end up sitting inside and loafing on the sofa. But do you know what I never regret doing instead? Going outside to enjoy the evening itself.
A Sight Worth Seeing
In the evening, God is just showing off. He makes the temperature perfect. He swirls pastels along the horizon. He send the little creatures out of hiding. He ever-so-gradually turns up the shine on the stars. He puts music into the hearts of crickets and peeper frogs. And then he waits for us to come out and enjoy the show. Sadly, he often waits in vain.
To be fair, not everyone stays inside. I see some families strolling through my neighborhood after dinner. There are a handful of moms who push strollers down my street pretty often. There’s even an old guy who walks his two little dogs just so they can pee on my mailbox every. single. day. These people make me happy. (Aside from the pee, which I could do without.) There’s a wonderful world just outside our front doors, and we’re missing it. We could be so much happier, healthier, and more at peace.
Last Child in the Woods
I recently read a book called Last Child in the Woods. Even though it was nonfiction, the concept gripped me. Having grown up outside, I’ve often worried that my kids may not get the same privilege because of location, safety, or lack of opportunity. This book assured me that my concern is more than valid—it’s reality for millions of American kids today. Many parents aren’t making an effort to get outside themselves, and their kids are following suit.
This loss of time outdoors leads to what author Richard Louv calls Nature Deficit Disorder. He’s not being ironic or clever; he’s giving a name to a real set of symptoms that come, a least in part, from a lack of time spent in nature. While I didn’t agree with some of his content, I did find the book helpful as a wakeup call. Spending time in nature should come—well, naturally to us and to our children. If it doesn’t, then it may be time for a change of habit.
John Muir’s America
When John Muir was a young man, he walked 1,000 miles from Illinois to the Gulf of Mexico so he could be closer to nature. He continued his journey by boat to several islands and back up to California, where he fell in love with Yosemite. For years he lived amongst the trees, meadows, and mountains, experiencing every kind of season, weather, animal, plant, and view the land had to offer. He was instrumental in making Yosemite one of the first national parks, and he published copious essays and books to help others enjoy and preserve the land he loved so much. Without him, we wouldn’t have the same America we enjoy today.
You and I probably won’t leave a legacy like John Muir’s, and that’s all right. But each of us can make small decisions that lead to big changes for ourselves and our children. We can start by turning off the TV, computer, and phone notifications and going outside. We can make a habit of walking or biking together. We can encourage our kids to play outside every day. We can even start socking away money for a family trip to a national park. Our kids will mirror our enjoyment of nature, and it will benefit them all their lives.
The change may not be easy, but together we can make America wild again.
PWD Goes Tri-Weekly(ish)
“Hang in there; it’s just a season.” For a few years, that was my mantra.
I was teaching at a small Christian school, and that means (among other wonderful things) being stretched very thin at times. Everyone on staff wears a stack of hats a mile high. Some of my hats included lesson planning, grading, church activities, counseling students, and writing various and sundry documents for the school. But during the second semester of each school year, I got to don one more hat—a big ol’ sombrero plopped right on top of all the other hats.
I helped direct a large-scale play.
While I wouldn’t trade those memories of late-night rehearsals, hilarious bloopers, technical difficulties, and opening night jitters for anything, I can also assure you that the process took several years off my life every time.
It. Was. Busy.
And when things are busy for me, the first thing to go is usually fitness. Well, fitness and sleep. My co-director friend and I would sit in the off-stage darkness and watch the students rehearse as we chugged coffee and ate animal crackers for dinner…again. We bemoaned our busy schedules that were too jam-packed to fit in a single jog. We commiserated that our pants were starting to feel tight. But then one of us would dutifully remind the other that it was just a season. It wouldn’t last forever. After the final curtain call, we could go jogging again. We could eat real dinners. We could work out as often as we wanted to.
Man, looking at that written out, the animal-cracker-dinner season doesn’t seem so bad after all.
But the reminder was still a comfort. Yes, things were busy, but there would come a time when things would slow down again. That’s the rhythm of life—a God-ordained rhythm. Work then rest. Work then rest. Animal crackers then jogging. It’s a cycle.
So what on earth does this have to do with Past Watchful Dragons?
Well, if you’re a regular reader (I mean, if you read the blog regularly. It’s fine if you’re abnormal personally.) then you’ve certainly noticed that a more-than-usual amount of time is elapsing between emails from yours truly. At first it was because I had a NICU baby. That was another animal-cracker-dinner season for sure. But now that my baby is home (hallelujah!) I’m finding that things are still pretty busy. The parenthood hat became a whole lot heavier when we added another offspring to the equation. Go figure, right?
So my goal is to post a new article every three weeks. It may even be less often than that, but a tri-weekly post is my goal. And while this does make me feel like I’m reneging on a commitment (something I really dislike), I know this is just a season (something I really believe).
Solomon (and the Byrds) knew the truth: “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). There’s a time for writing and a time for playing. A time for feeling proud of my academic accomplishments and a time for feeling thankful for my parental accomplishments. A time to blog and a time to mom. I’m in the season of mothering right now, and it’s just that—a season. Seasons pass quickly, and I don’t want to waste this precious time.
So thank you, dear reader, for your patience with me as I savor the season. I promise I’ll post as often as possible. In the meantime, I hope you will enjoy your season of life as well. Whether enjoyable or difficult, it’s just a season. Hang in there.
Add a comment, and join the conversation!