It is a mostly cloudy day, with blustery winds whipping up a little fall nip and a whole lotta leaves.
There are some pretty spectacular trees out there.
It is sprinkling.
Yesterday was one of those blue sky fall days, where it was so bright, it was almost painful without sunglasses. The colorful treetops glowed in the sunlight and looked like the world had burst out in flames.
I love both of these kinds of fall days. They do something on the inside of me. They make me feel warm and cozy, and sad and lonely all at the same time. Why is that, I wonder?
Daniel is recovering nicely from a bought of bronchitis.
We went to a wedding this weekend, and left him behind with MeMe. I felt as though I was missing my right arm. Before we left, Daniel looked at me and announced, "You look handsome!" Aw, shucks. You could have scooped me off the floor in a bucket right then and there.
I wish Danny was in these pictures! Next time we get dressed up, we'll get a full family photo.
My older boys enjoyed the festivities of the wedding. They looked handsome themselves in their button-downs and ties. They were a bit punchy during the ceremony, but had a chance to get the ants out of their pants at the reception. They danced and danced. Boy, did they dance!! They had their ties off, shirt collars up, and attitudes on!
It was amazing to watch them out there, in the middle of people they knew and people they didn't, bustin' moves like they owned the place. Josiah even did the dollar dance with the bride! The last wedding we attended, they stood at the edge of the dance floor and looked on at friends and strangers doing the YMCA, but didn't dare join in. What had changed in the short six months since that other wedding?
They did.
And it was time for another one of those moments. You know, the ones I'm always talking about when I realize that my kids are growing up. Becoming . . . themselves.
And I stood and watched them, smiling.
But my heart was breaking in two; one part for me, and one part for them.
As moms, there is so much of ourselves we give to and give up for our children. This is right. It is how it should be. Especially if we really believe what we say we do about Kingdom living. It's not about me, but about laying down my life for those coming behind me, especially my own children. My first church is my family, my first mission field, my home; for if I do not live Kingdom principles there, I will not truly be living them anywhere else, no matter what I do. I am not always perfect at this selfless living in my home, with my husband and children. But I strive to be. And in that striving, there is a lot of dying and investing and hoping for my children. But, really, though they are mine for a time -- oh precious little, precious time (with some of those pull-every-hair-from-my-head moments thrown in), ultimately, they belong to God. His plans for them are higher than even mine. But the thought of having to let go one day . . . ah, that is hard.
And so, as I watch them figuring it all out, and struggling to find their niche, and growing and becoming, I am a little sad for . . . me (I don't have all the selfish bugs worked out yet. I keep telling you this : ) because there will come a day when they will fly away from their first nest and make places in this world of their own, and while I hope they will include me in their lives, they will be living lives of their own, and three pieces of my heart will go with them.
And my heart broke for them, too, because there comes an end to the age of innocence, and it seems, for Isaac, at least, like this day is fast approaching. To watch his self awareness and his awareness of others on that dance floor, there was no other conclusion to come to.
Growing up can be a wonderful experience (depending on where and how and when you do it, I guess), but, like a butterfly dies a small death, struggles to shed what it was to become what it will, what it must be, there is a giving up, a shedding of childhood magic that accompanies the growing up process.
There is a sudden awareness that you are not the only one dancing.
That there are others beside you.
And that you, in fact, do not rule the world, as you once believed, but are only one small part of it.
These can be difficult realizations to come to; and how a child comes to them makes all the difference in how they become adults, and the kind of adults they become.
As a parent, I hope and I pray that the struggle will not break them, but create in them the fullness of their personhood as Christians, as men, as husbands and fathers and friends and children of God. That the shedding, the dying, the pushing and the being pushed gives them wings that will take them higher than even I can imagine for them!
It seems like I think about this stuff a lot lately, but I am watching friends kids, who I've known since they were children, getting married and leaving the country, starting businesses and having babies of their own, and I know that it is all coming down the pike for me.
I have an 11 year old, for crying out loud. This may not seem like much to you . . but it sure does to me!
When your kids are little, you get lulled into believing this lie that they will be that way forever -- dependent, sweet, small, helpless, cuddly, utterly frustrating, able to be held on your lap. Especially on the hardest days, it seems like your children will never grow up, and you will hear a chorus of mom!s all day, everyday, for the rest of your life.
But then, there is a sudden awareness that your children are indeed growing . . . and growing . . . and growing. And instead of them bumbling under your feet, sweetly talking your ears off, you have to check on them to see what they are doing and just where they are, anyway.
Forgive my dottering on. It is just where I've been lately, I guess.
It probably didn't help that the other morning, as he was waking up, Daniel rubbed his face and announced to me, "I need-a shave!"
"What? You need to save?" I asked, trying to clarify.
"No! I need-a shave! It's what the big boys do!"
Oh.
Yep.
Growing up way too fast.
Today, as we approached the playground at school, he began bawling at all the jacket-less boys, "Boys! Get your coats on!! Or go inside."
I cringed.
Where did he get that from?
I'm sure it felt good for him to say it, instead of hear it, for a change.
And then there's this . . . .
it is in the sweet moments of life that the struggling is made worthwhile. Sweet moments, like Dad reading Haiku to his two younger sons, who sit enraptured by the words, repeating them, hopefully, falling in love with them . . .
