I feel like I'm always rushing to write.
Like I'm always having to be hasty with my time here.
Like it's a dash and scramble.
The other things and people I tend to breathing down the nape of my neck as I type....
it's normal in this season, I suppose.
But I certainly don't want to dart through this period.
I want to really live it and embrace it and caress it like the prize it is.
But I can't help but feel the squeeze and tension of pouring out to my people - yet having a deep yearning to spill thoughts out here, too.
A few nights ago - I slipped into a tub of hot liquid, submerged my aching neck underneath, held my book just above the water line, and read the afterward of Anne Morrow Lindbergs' Gift from the Sea.
In it, she describes how she felt when her days in the home with children were done....when her young left the nest and flew on to their own things.
She portrays that section of her life like this....
"Plenty of solitude, and a sudden panic at how to fill it...."
This struck me.... so I reached around the rim of the tub and grabbed my pen to highlight that piece.
Because the realization that there will come a day when the pitter-patter of small feet, and the bang of percussions, and the squabble of siblings, and the asking for snacks, and the myriad of messes in every room....
And when it does - I'll probably have a bit more time to splash words on a screen.
I won't be able to kiss soft new cheeks or hear the giggle of sneaky children each morning either.
Behold what is before your very eyes this moment! And breath them in! And hug them close! And listen. And remember. And play. And sit down. And shut up.
Every season has it's place. Commit to what's currently sitting between your wrist and finger tips. Catch it and keep it..... in the depths of your mind and heart. Because one day - that's the only place this season will be.
It won't be loud and glaring you right in the face anymore - it will simply be a memory...tucked away in spirit and scrapbook.
Behold, behold, behold Kate.
Yes. The trudge through motherhood can be fierce. And depleting. And exhausting. And frightening. And freaky.
Yes. One must find a way to trickle out her bents and longings - right alongside her mothering.
Yes. Those later seasons of life - will hold much, too.
But this moment - ring out every drop of the here and now. Insert and extract all you're able - in His power....and not one second of it will be wasted.
It's late at the time of my writing this.
There is finally a hush in this home - as all three young ones rest and the husband preps a sermon.
I have the candle my mother-in-law bought me burning here on the table. And I have piano music pouring out from the ipad on Pandora. I have tomorrow's long grocery list sitting to my left, and Matchbox cars parked on my counter tops, and literature for littles littered about my living room.
Due to an early alarm in the A.M. - and a full weekend and week ahead...
I'm hastening to hash this out here and get to bed.
Because one day - I'll have more time to write. I'll have more time to sit and tinker and think and put thought to paper.
But I won't have the rush and thrill of loving on lads and lassies all day.
So for now...I'll take and embrace and behold the latter.
Writing without rushing can wait.