It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like writing about life.  Somehow, politics and theology are easier topics to get my head around – and much less personal – than this everyday existence.  I don’t even really know if I have anything to say, but I occasionally get blindsided by how quickly these days are fading into memory that I figured maybe I should try.

A family picture from less than three years ago caught my eye today because my three older boys looked so young in it.  I was still taller than all of them then – now they are all taller than me, even the thirteen year old.  My littlest girl was still, truly, a little girl, and my baby, just a toddler.  I have moments when I can walk to the car with nothing more than my purse, and remember the days of infant car seats, diaper bags, and toddler hands…and the tears I cried way back then because I knew, as much as the moments felt tedious, I would miss them when I could leave the house unencumbered.

And I do miss them.

Yes, there is relief in knowing all of my kids have reached some level of personal responsibility that lifts a weight off my shoulders, but I was never under the illusion that this growing-up process would be a welcome one to me. It’s a struggle, nearly every day.  Every milestone and achievement celebrated usually also has me fighting unsuccessfully to choke back tears.  My kids and Tim have all come to expect it, and even joke about it, which does, oddly, make it a little easier.  They know I do really want to see them spread their wings and thrive in everything God has for them.

But, what do I do when they’re gone?

I know there will almost certainly be grandchildren, and requests for help, or even a child or two living at home at least a little way into adulthood.  But there will also be empty bedrooms, and a quiet dinner table, and a washing machine sitting unused for long stretches of each day.  Honestly, these thoughts make me plead for Jesus’s return as much as any of the atrocities in our world today.  I just don’t know how my heart will handle it.

But we’re told to not worry about tomorrow, and I imperfectly try to take that to heart and, when I remember, make the most of today.  So, I stay up later than I would like to talk with Caedmon about life.  I smile at my six year old and make sure to hear his voice that can be so easily drowned out by older, louder voices.  I help Nathanael weed his patch of corn, and take Bethany for coffee and clothes shopping.  I make slime and have tea parties with my two not-so-little little girls.  I listen while Elijah recounts the latest joke or factoid he’s read about…and remind myself to offer him extra words of encouragement, because even as a teenage boy, his sensitive nature still benefits from those words more than others might.

And I keep talking to my kids about Jesus.  We keep memorizing verses, and singing worship songs, and lifting up our needs in prayer…even when it seems tedious, or like they couldn’t care less…because this matters most – teaching them to seek Him in every moment, through every doubt, fear, question and trial.

I fail a lot.  I miss opportunities.  I yell when I shouldn’t.  I even sometimes take advantage of their capabilities to slack in my own.  I try to apologize when it’s warranted, but I’m sure I don’t get it right all the time.  I hope it’s enough that I remind them that these are all reasons why I need Jesus.  I hope they know, now and down the road, that, in spite of these failings, I love them beyond what words can express and I wouldn’t trade these days with them for anything.