trees, (un)certainty, and God as Jeeves.

I wrote this yesterday but didn't get around to posting it because I decided instead to spend the evening catching up with some dear friends. It was a good choice.

.......

Today I had an epiphany: The loneliness that can come from being a full-time mom has a beautiful flip side. You can have moments of solitude without really being alone. Think about it. Taking care of a baby or two is the perfect excuse to sit out in the sun or in your favorite chair or wherever, doing nothing, without the guilt of wasting time.  No, I'm not staring blankly at the wall. I'm watching the kids.

Granted, these moments of peace are short lived, but these days I'll take what I can get.

This morning the boys and I spent some time on the deck enjoying the perfect sunny and 70 weather, a welcome reprieve from the smothering 90-something degree heat that has kept my brood locked in the house more lately than I care to admit. Last time I checked, seasons were supposed to change GRADUALLY, not smack you upside the head and then cackle like a witch in a fairy tale. (Sorry for the lame analogy. We may or may not have watched a princess movie recently.) E was at Mother's Day Out (the one that doesn't make her cry), so it was just me and the studmuffins. They can't talk yet, but I'm pretty sure they were excited to have a little mama-and-boys time.

We have a great deck. Really great. The brainchild of my genius husband, it is half covered, half uncovered. Or, half comfy outdoor living room, half dining/drinking/congregating/game playing deck. It all rests in the shade of a giant tree which stands right in the center. The Hub built the deck around it, a decision that some have questioned. "But what happens when the tree grows too big?" they say, slightly annoyed at this apparent lack of foresight. I happen to think it's brilliant, and I love the fact that he couldn't or wouldn't or just plain didn't feel like cutting that beautiful tree down. Maybe one day years from now the tree will have to be removed or the deck reworked, but for now it is there just as it should be.

As I sat under our tree this morning, the boys exploring the deck in their "scooters," I thought about how life is exactly like that. We can only know so much. So we make decisions with what we know and we move on, trusting (or not) that the rest will be provided on a need-to-know basis. Sometimes we play it safe. Sometimes we take a risk. In either case, we know that if we spend all our time worrying about what is to come and how we'll make it through (or not), we miss the beauty of right now. But that doesn't stop us from doing it anyway.

Sometimes I think the thing I hate most in the world is money. I hate worrying about it. I hate that it creates covetousness and self pity and fear. I hate that it controls us, that in our society it rules. I hate that I cannot think about the future without wondering if I will have enough - enough time, enough wisdom, enough faith, enough grace, enough stupid money. I hate that this worry distracts me from living my life.

I read this recently from Anne Lamott and instantly thought, ME TOO.

It's so hard to keep my sticky little fingers off the controls of this spaceship, especially when I get scared, like now when God has not bothered to give me the specific details of his solution to our financial needs. I'm just a little edgy being in the dark about it. I don't understand why he always has to be so [...] weird about his plans. I would prefer that he be more like Jeeves, streaming into rooms like sunlight with all that I need to feel comfortable -- God as cosmic butler. This other way is so hard.  (Operating Instructions, p. 112)*

My prayer for my family today is that we will enjoy this season exactly as it is, that we will not let the uncertainty of tomorrow or next month or ten minutes from now rob us of the blessed uniqueness and unexpected joys of right now. For us, this time is one of newness and discovery and laughter and stumbling through the most beautiful of obstacle courses, and I do not want to miss it because I'm straining to look ahead or constantly jerking my head to the side to watch all that's trivial fly by my window.

I want to remember, as the saying goes, that I shall not pass this way again. There will never be another morning exactly like this one, with my babbling, curious boys flitting around the deck on their scooters, touching a tree trunk and chasing the cat, under the greenest tree and the bluest 70-degree July sky.

At some point amid the flitting (I love that word) there was a moment when the breeze picked up, causing the boys to halt their constant chatter and breathe it in. I looked up from my book and did the same. We sat there, the three of us, staring at the sky in silence and listening to the leaves rustle overhead. It was only a minute, maybe less, but I believe that single moment may have held enough perfection to get me through this next round of teething. And I'm thankful that, for once, I didn't miss it.

*A note about my dear friend Anne Lamott, who is not actually a dear friend but I still like to pretend. I love Anne, I really do, and you will likely hear more from her on this blog if you stick around long enough. But before you run off to the library for one of her books (because I know you were about to), I feel the need to tell you that Anne's language can be a bit, let's say, colorful. I think that's just what happens when you are a recovering addict who is also a Christian and a mom and dares to speak honestly and unedited about the way all of those things mesh together. So go. Read. Just consider yourself politely warned that an F-bomb or two might be in your future. Disclaimer, done.