This is not how I pictured my life ten years ago. At sixteen, I was just falling in love with my tall, gentle hearted, funny best friend. My body had not yet housed multiple children, I didn't get a euphoric high when the household budget balanced, and I didn't yet know what sacrifice really meant. I could spend all day reading and not worry about little bodies needing to eat (and eat and eat and eat. ALL THE THINGS. ALL THE TIME). I wrote when I wanted and what I wanted and to the music I wanted and in an environment perfectly suited to everything I WANTED.
But that's not my life now. My world now does not allow for the perfect "reading, writing, artistic expression, etc," atmosphere. In fact, my life does not allow for any other atmosphere that doesn't include two girls who Jekyll and Hyde me at every turn and a baby boy whose belly is perfect raspberry material. My atmosphere is six questions from three people in two seconds. My atmosphere is a six year old demanding an audience for her living room ballet show. My atmosphere is a three year old whose only volume is loud (unless of course the baby is sleeping and then her volume is WHAT-DID-YOU-SAY-MOM-OH-I-FORGOT-MATTY-WAS-SLEEPING loud). My atmosphere is a hard working, handy man musician husband who hammers and plays the piano (often within minutes of each other). In other words, my "atmosphere" is a life.
But The Tug is still there. The pull to create beyond schedules and budgets and meal plans still exists. And I can't believe that the life I have built is in opposition to that longing; that only one can live while the other dies, H.Potter style (that analogy breaks down pretty quick so don't read too much into it, por favor). Seconds and minutes and hours can be made for both the noise and the quiet, the chaos and the steadiness.
I can be faithful to both this life and The Tug. Dig into the mess and the words. Believe that if God calls us to multiple things then He will create the space and the time. Or He will sharpen us in the moments when there doesn't seem to be enough of either. My job is to listen and do. To press in and move forward. To be faithful and willing.
I'll give you one more job: Trade this sentiment back and forth with my wife. I'm glad you befriended each other. Well articulated, Emily.ReplyDelete