Some seasons are harder than others. Wouldn’t you agree? My thoughts have grumbled my selfish first world worries. Yet I have taken in the eyes of hungry Guatemalan babes and hopeless mothers. I have seen an old woman praising God for her simple bag of rice and beans. As if she won the lottery. Her voice still sings to me.
I sense myself wanting to be here again. One day far away from now. Even though some things for this new mama have been a challenge. I sense the call to wander here awhile.
Here in my cozy little apartment on the third floor. Here with a broken heart over breastfeeding challenges and nights of little sleep. Here, with huge faith steps ahead.
Maybe, when I am eighty, these days will come to mind. And I will wish I could turn back to here and feel my sweet daughters skin on mine. To see her smile, hear her coos and hold her tiny hand.
Maybe on my daughters graduation day when she throws her cap up into the air, I will hope to be back here. Perhaps when she goes on her first missions trip far away. Or when she is in a beautiful white dress on her wedding day.
Maybe when I behold my beloved and time has colored his jet black hair to gray.
Maybe when we can’t run like we used to.
Maybe then I will wish for here again. When I look at it from a future perspective, the days don’t feel as hard as expected.
Now I know, I want to amble in this short time and space. I want to study my baby’s face and think about grace. For what if tomorrow never comes?
Here is what matters.
Here is what counts…
The time I spent loving my family. Cups of coffee with friends and making new ones. Sharing how Jesus has changed my life. Worry less, pray more. Take each day and moment as a gift. End the daily rush of life. Snuggle my baby, kiss her, rock her, hold on to her and make her smile. Hold my husband’s hand, dance with him, tell him how much I adore him, know him better than he knows himself. Be led with the pen to paper.
You know what? I will stroll here awhile. I love it here.