I sat in the cool of the evening tonight and soaked in the beauty. A life growing inside me, a pre-schooler in full imagination mode with toys, ants, and dirt, and a peaceful and comfortable evening outdoors.
Indeed I feel blessed, joyful, serene, and grateful, but right now I just can’t seem to express it all into words properly.
I’ve been trying to describe it:
- The discomfort that comes with pregnancy mingled with the joy at being chosen by God to raise children.
- The exhaustion combined with the laughter over funny three year old sayings.
- The forgetfulness along with the memories etched forever in my memory of this time in my family’s life.
- The fear and overwhelming feelings of knowing what it means to care for a baby while excitedly planning what needs to be done to be prepared for its arrival.
- Having busy days that leave my brain too tired to write in addition to not having compelling or entertaining stories about what’s going on in my ordinary life as a stay-at-home mom.
As I sorted through this jumbled mass of conflicting thoughts, I longed for a visual to help me understand what it is I’m feeling. It was then that my eyes moved from the clouds and trees, the ants and little boy activity, to my lone porch plant. As I took in its features after a long, hard summer of withstanding harsh conditions, I empathized.
There she sat, taking in the same beautiful evening, very much alive at her base, yet at the top, she was obviously drained. Her beautiful flowers were withered, no longer vibrant, yet holding on. Her season of bringing joy to others through her blossoms – whether they be timely words, gifts or thank yous, calls or messages, or even cute clothes and a chipper face – is moved to a dormant phase.
She hasn’t forgotten all that is important, this plant. The roots are still holding on, and the leaves continue to thrive, even if they’re not as pretty or as easy to see for passers by. The Giver of Life is nourishing her, strengthening her to push through the times that aren’t as exciting or colorful.
I may feel depleted of the ability to keep doing the things that seemed simple a few months ago, just as my geranium is no long able to produce delightful hues of pink for the neighborhood to see, but I am not dying. I am very much alive, fulfilling new needs for this specific season in the life of my family and me.
Purpose is not lost, it’s redirected to what’s important to God and those I love right now. Old passions are not forever lost, they’re just marinating, preparing for their time to re-emerge more refined.
My appreciation for this hardy little plant has only grown over this season, and tonight I thanked its simple existence for being the lesson I needed to understand what God is doing in me right now.
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