I had written exactly one sentence and one word when my newest son toddled over, put his hands into the air, looked me straight in the eye and said, “Up.” I sighed as I closed that journal along with my Bible and picked up that precious baby. I held him close and felt the steady and even beat of his heart under my hand as I rubbed his back. I nestled my nose into his hair and breathed in his delicious coconut hair oil. I did not second guess my choice.
That one sentence and one word were the first I had written in four weeks.
In four weeks, I had not had a solitary moment to eat, brush my teeth or use the bathroom without the audience of my son. He even watches me shower. I’m just being real here people. This is the season I’m in. I both understand and accept this, even if I had forgotten what it was like to have little feet following me at every step.
At night, when he’s sleeping close by in his bed, I pour out to God all the things I cannot keep doing or doing without. As I drift off to sleep, I get sentences and story ideas that I wonder if I’ll ever have time to write.
I look at the hours in the day and know I can choose to quit all together. I could walk away from the words and nobody would give it a second thought.
Nobody but me.
There’s the fire that burns within my marrow. He lit it! Even if right now it’s an ember, I still shelter it. I still protect it. Because I know He is still doing a work in me and I’d like to see it through. I’d like to see where He’s taking me.
Even if I have to sneak out of bed late at night or wake up earlier than everyone else to sit at his feet. Even if my writing has to be more off the cuff and less polished. Even if the process makes me more vulnerable than I already am. I’m willing to take the words and the work as they come. Just as long as he keeps giving them to me.
[Tweet “For now I’m going to live my season.”]
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven…
I’m going to pick my babies up when they ask to be held and read to them at bedtime. I’m going to sing one more song and watch them play baseball. I’m going to be a wife to the husband who loves me more than I deserve. I’m going to plan meals and clip coupons and otherwise be a regular momma who does all she can to love her family through their growing years.
And I’m not going to take their time and shuffle it into my dream. Because they are also my dream. They are a gift I will not squander.
There will not always be soccer games and basketball practice. There will not always be tiny feet that need washing or hands that need holding. At some point I will look up and they will be gone doing their own thing.
They will be working for their dreams.
They will be living their seasons.
And I will not regret one moment that I spent on them.