About a year ago I experienced a shift – one which slipped in unnoticed but proved to be rather seismic – in who I am as mom. For twelve years I had at least one child in the baby-toddler-preschool era. I was a stay-at-home mom. The role was hard but at least simple in some ways – keep them fed, safe, somewhat clean. Teach them to listen, snuggle with them in the mornings, pull up a chair to the kitchen counter so they can “help.” It was defined – never easy, but still clear. It felt like running a marathon through a mud pit – slow, exhausting, and inching toward the goal.
My baby started first grade this year. My firstborn turned
twelve. I have one eagerly knocking on the door of adolescence, one reluctantly
closing the door on the preschool years, and one trying to figure out who she
is in the middle. In the flash of a moment I went from stay-at-home mom to taxi
driver – from naps and bathtime to screaming cheering on the sidelines
of the court or field or stage, heart in my throat as I watch my babies give it
their all, facing the risk of failure, learning to persevere. Where I was once
exhausted physically, I find myself with three independent humans under my roof,
requiring less and less of my help with daily tasks. But where I once knew what
was required of me each day, I find that I am more and more desperate for
wisdom to guide, help, encourage, and instruct these three unique personalities.
It feels like running a marathon on a slip-n-slide – wild, unpredictable, moving
ahead by leaps and bounds some days and falling flat on my face other days.
I have been quiet for a couple of years. I’ve been finding
my footing. I’ve grieved the loss of the sweetness of babies and toddlers and
preschoolers, but I also love where we are. I love getting to know my kids all
over again, the people they are becoming. I’m not sure of myself. I had
developed perspective in those little years, and now I find I am developing it
all over again.
Anxious thoughts look a little different in these middle
ages but they still tend to multiply. And when they do, I remember Moses’ words
to the anxious Israelites as they stared into the impassable sea that stood in
front of them.
Fear not…stand firm…see the salvation of the Lord…
It doesn’t all depend on me. These sweet “little” people,
one of whom has reached only a couple of inches below the top of my head and
will probably pass me next year, will each have their own journey. They will
have to learn to trust in the Lord with all of their hearts, and I will
continue to do the same. The prayer that is most often on my lips and mind and
heart these days is that they, as Paul prayed for the Ephesians, will be rooted
and grounded in love.
The middle ages. We’re here, ready or not. But I think we’re
ready.
