Category: leaving (Page 3 of 4)

Now is not Forever

Most of my friends are a lot like myself. White, middle class, mothers of young children, living in smallish towns. Generally we all work, some of us not so much in the traditional work structure. We mostly have useful – if not empowering – partners in this gig. Often conversations with these friends revolve around the trials of young childhood, with a peppering of conversation focused on the bigger picture, the future, the better world. I need this solidarity and familiarity. It brings me so much peace to know I’m not alone in struggling at times.

Then I sit out outside next to my neighbors who will graduate their youngest child in less than a week. Their oldest, living in the prime of responsibility-less life, embarks today on a trip to South America for an undetermined amount of time. My neighbor, the father of the family, told me no less than three times last night – just after H boy came running down the street in his skivvies – how quickly this time flies past us.

I believe him.

Throughout my journey we’ve been given gifts of these people, ones not so much like us. We’ve sat at the table with couples in a different season of marriage. I’ve listened to the struggles of parenting teenagers long before I nodded along to Honest Toddler. And now, as we’re on the brink of sending our two oldest into the unknown realms of school, I’m watching parents at the far end send their babies off into the unknown territory of life as an adult. It gives me the simultaneous sense of realizing that what I’m doing right now matters very much in building a foundation for my children while also understanding that what I’m doing right now matters very little in the scheme of the bigger picture of life.

My other-season-of-life friends offer me the pull toward reality. Of course, my reality is my reality. The challenges of bedtime and temper tantrums are a real and valid thing. To dismiss them because “at least you’re not sending them off to college” is completely unfair. I’m not looking to put different stages in competition with each other; rather they offer a gentle harmony to my current situation.

Graduation season, weddings and even funerals temper my life in a way that reminds me that, as I like to say, life will look different in 5 years. Perspective gives me opportunity to enjoy what is without a sense of guilt when I don’t always enjoy what is.

In many ways, when given the gift of perspective, I realize that I don’t have to enjoy certain parts of my life, but I do so with a sense that I won’t get another chance to enjoy them. I won’t keep repeating this stage until it’s fun or I get it right – life will march along no matter what. This is not all that there is. Which is both a frightening and a beautiful thing.

Finding Beauty

So, there’s not really a single part of me that wants to leave.

Of course, I’m thrilled to be returning home. So many good things await us there. Did I mention the house we found will actually be 1/2 a mile from my best friend, our very own KLR? She will surely be changing locks and “accidentally” forgetting to leave the spare in the shed before too long, but that is fine. The way things such as these have continued to align gives me great confidence in what God is doing right now.

But that doesn’t negate the tears. Just because I’m glad to be going doesn’t mean I want to be leaving.

The things that decorated my life haveI cried sad tears last night at a preschool music celebration. Mark that down as one of my best gifts, that I can take such a beautiful and happy evening in the children’s lives and make it a sobfest about my own. I couldn’t help it as reality began to set in: this was it for us and this little community. My youngest 2 will not hear Miss Carla sing Bob Dylan songs or dance around with ukuleles.

Yet it’s not just the school, or the church, or the neighborhood. Those things exist in nearly all communities, even if not identical in form to those here. To say that these are better than those is largely unfair. It’s not a contest and they’re not competing.

My time in Troy has been like getting ready for the prom. These voices got me all dressed up, put on some make-up and did my hair. They put me in front of a mirror and helped me realize how beautiful I am. How beautiful this life is. Perfect? No. But richly beautiful.

Now, I’m going home to change into yoga pants and a hoodie, the comforts I crave and know. It might not have the glow of a big dance, but I can live with my eyes opened to the beauty I discovered. I once told a group of high school girl that real beauty looks as good in a hoodie as it does in a prom dress, and that’s the direction my life is taking.

The things that decorated my life have to stay here. But the beauty? That moves. I’ll have to leave behind the people who held the mirror and pointed out the beauty. But the way they shaped me and formed me, smoothing my rough edges and sharpening me where I’ve been dull – that will travel. I’ll just have to hold on to that.

Seasons of Troy

1A word of advice: Take pictures. Take pictures, take pictures, take pictures. And not just pictures of kids in their jammies at Christmas – those go okay in a high school scrapbook, but they don’t tell the story.  If you don’t start snapping, before you know it, you’ve decided to leave the primary place your children have formed meaningful relationships and you don’t have a darn tootin’ picture of them giving their friend a hug or playing out in the yard. You don’t see their goofy grins eating popsicles with the neighbors (heck, you don’t even have a picture OF the neighbors) or listening to a lesson at church. There’s no visual record of their evenings spent at small group with kaboodles of children, begging for a snack and watching a movie.

My photographic log of our time in Troy looks pithy at best. I may have logged plenty of pictures of the baby wearing the girls’ dresses at home, but it’s not a what we’ll remember most about our time here. We take with 5us the sunny days at the park after school pick up. The games, and even injuries, of the playground. The million and two margaritas from La Fiesta on a much-needed girls night.

I’ve spent some time in our other vehicle, where I keep my RENT soundtrack, listening to “the number song” as the children call it. I had a significant conversation with H Boy about it when he asked what they were singing about. Of course, I teared up when I explained that the best way to know if we’re living a good life is to look at how many people you love and how much you love them.

Looking back now at our time in Troy, I could look at the hours I spent at meetings for a local foods co-op or the people who reinforced my belief that closer is better. I could track the board meetings or the people who shaped me to be more like Jesus. I could 2give thanks for an organization that values childhood in education or I can remember the teachers who shaped my children and the parents of other children who cherished mine as well.

And so, dear reader friend, take more pictures. Take pictures of the people you love and take pictures of you living life with them. Give yourself a true measuring stick of the way you spend your days and years instead of depending on Facebook for a collage of beloved friends. Four years can go by so quickly when they’re filled with people, not simply minutes and hours.

Seasons of Troy

Two million, one hundred and two thousand, four hundred minutes
Two million, one hundred and two thousand, four hundred moments so dear
Two million, one hundred and two thousand, four hundred minutes
4How do you measure, measure four years?

In pick ups,  In drop offs
In wine nights,  In cups of coffee
In inches the kids grew, in laughter, in strife
Two million, one hundred and two thousand, four hundred minutes
How do you measure four years of your life?

How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love.

Two million, one hundred and two thousand, four hundred minutes
Two million, one hundred and two thousand, four hundred picnics to plan

3Two million, one hundred and two thousand, four hundred minutes
How do you measure four years of this woman and man?

In truths that she learned
In times that they cried
In campfires he burned
Or the recipes she tried

It’s time now, to sing out
Though the story never ends
Let’s celebrate
Remember four years of life with new friends

Remember the love
(Oh, you got to, you got to remember the love)

Remember the love
(You know that life is a gift from up above)
Remember the love
(Share love, give love, spread love)
Measure in love
(Measure, measure your life in love)

Seasons of love
Seasons of love
(Measure your life, measure your life in love)

 

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