Changing Seasons

The Hawaii trip sort of set off a realization for me. It happened first when I sat poolside while my kids were in the pool--without me. And then, we came home and suddenly the girls couldn't agree about their bath. You see, they always bathe together--it just depends if they want to bathe in our big tub, in their tub upstairs, or take a shower. On Monday there was a large amount of squabble from the backseat about which choice was best that day (we often bathe right after school, seems to be a nice transition home especially since Jillian has been standing outside in the cold waiting for me to get to the front of the pick up line). So, I let Adrienne take a bath in my big tub alone. And Jillian decided she would like to go upstairs to her bathroom and shower herself. We reviewed things like keeping the water in the tub, making sure the curtain liner was inside the tub, putting the mat down, having her towel right there....and she was off. She's done it everyday since. She has also started putting her laundry away and loading the dishwasher. And then yesterday, as I was in the shower following my return from an early morning workout I realized that my kids were up, Matt was gone, and I was showering when I wanted to. I didn't need to orchestrate entertainment for the girls, wait til they were asleep, have them come in the bathroom with me, or worry they were going to escape the house or set it ablaze while I was occupied. My realization is simply this: we are in a new season of parenting. It snuck up on me gradually, and then pounded me right between the eyes this week with this succession of events. Now that I know this, I have three  choices:

1.  I can spend my time regretting the past--the loss of infancy and toddler hood, worrying that I didn't enjoy the girls enough, wondering if I'd do better at it if I just had one more (don't get your hopes up, the answer is no)

2.  I can spend my time worrying about or longing for the future--waiting for even more independence in the girls, worrying about sickness, safety, character development, etc.

3.  I can enjoy where we are.  Today. Right now.


Jen Hatmaker wrote a brilliant devotional in her "Out of the Spin Cycle" book on this subject, and I shared an excerpt from it as I led worship yesterday at Bible study. She writes,

"The concept of daily bread has been baiting me for awhile. when God literally gave the Hebrews their daily bread--dropped from the sky--as they wandered the desert for 40 years, his instructions were explicit: 'The people are to go out each day and gather enough for that day (Exodus 16:4). He was very clear: no one could hoard the bread and quail for the future. In fact, any leftovers were spoiled by the next day, the only exception being the Sabbath, where they could collect enough for two days and make room for rest. God seemed to be saying, 'Don't obsess about tomorrow. Live in this day, without worrying what you'll do or need later. What is nourishment today will be spoiled by tomorrow. Enjoy it today, or enjoy it never'. "  She goes on, "Give us today, our daily bread. I won't spoil this day by grieving what has past or longing for what has not yet come."

It's so easy to fall into the traps of choices 1 and 2. I've lived  most of my life in those places, and I've spoiled so many portions of my 'daily bread'. I want to live choice number 3, and I want my girls to learn to do so. My daily bread is fresh for me every single morning, and so is yours--it's hot out of the oven, just waiting to be enjoyed and savored. Doesn't that sound better than stale, day-old bread? I think so. Enjoy it today, or enjoy it never.