stories.
(it’s a long one friends. might as well hide yourself in a closet with your coffee for this post. and when the kids come knocking, just.keep.hiding.)
i read blogs, but i don’t read books. blogs are a perfect marriage of inspiration, encouragement, and a good laugh, all under 500 words. all which are dreamy for the non-reader, short attention span, constantly interrupted girl that i am. i get attached to people and lives that i don’t even know, but day in and day out, i read about them, their hearts, kids, weird neighbors and car mishaps. some might refer to it as stalking, but i like to call them my “friends,”and i’m ok make believing that they call me their friends too. but this morning when i shut my computer after catching up with my “friends” i felt a little dizzy. like their lives of farming, adopting, snow shoeing, rescuing people out of poverty, and successful parenting techniques all felt, well, so exciting. and when i think about my life, my day in and day out activities, it is well, boring. or more like BOOR-ING (singing this word will really enhance the joy of reading this post)! not that boring is always a bad thing, but it is just the truth. we are happy to survive each day, alive, and with as few band-aids as possible. so i packed up my stuff for another trip to the same park i went to yesterday, stopping at the same starbucks, and ordering the very same drink – tall, no water, chai tea latte, extra hot. same.ole.thing.
i met up with an old friend of mine. she is the stylish and doesn’t even have to try kind of a friend. you know the girl who does the messy bun perfectly and mixes classy and bohemian in a way that can’t be replicated no matter how many youtube tutorials you watch or pinterest pictures you re-pin. anyway- my friend, courtney is that girl. she unloads her cargo of girls and we head to the sidelines while the kids play. she tells me a story about the ways God is weaving her stories together. it wasn’t easy for her to talk and i knew behind her sunglasses tears were beading up and being held in balance. but her tears were less about sadness and more about awe. awe at all the little ways that God created a path for all of her passions to meet. even her experiences from years ago lead her to this particular moment in her life. experiences that for a time seemed lost or useless or confusing or unfinished. she told me how scary it is to put herself out there and take steps forward because what will people think? and how could she call herself a writer? but all the while, hoping and knowing deep down in her gut, there was something small and good that needed to be said. so she said it. it took her several years and a lot of tears and a lot more prayer, but she said it.
it made me think of my mom who had a baby at 23, earned her Ph.D. at age 24 (which i believe deserves a standing ovation), and had another baby at 26 and another and another. four girls. instead of using her degree, she chose to change diapers, and do carpool, and be the parent volunteer, all the while wondering why in the world she had her doctorate at all. and what no one knew was that 25 years after having earned her Ph.D. God weaved her stories together. she went to work as a professor at Point Loma Nazarene University and three of her daughters followed her there (including myself). because of her employment at PLNU, our tuition was virtually paid for. it saved us nearly $100,000. yes, you read that number correctly. but who knew? when she was 32 with a Ph.D raising 4 children, she never imagined the trajectory of her choices.
my life is not radical. we do the same kinds of things everyday. my life is pretty down right boring compared to the blog mommies out there who are chopping down trees and cultivating hives to make their own honey. and when i sat listening to courtney and remembered my moms story, i was reminded that my story isn’t done yet. i’m only 32 years into it. and my little ones, their story is just beginning. because everything carries meaning. and every heart tug or experience or painful ending moves us deeper into our well worn souls and helps us realize we aren’t the ones even doing the writing at all. so even today, i’ll pack up the car again. endure the beautiful chaos of the tuesday farmer’s market, and escogelato deliciousness, bbq hamburgers and tackle another load of laundry. and for all the boredom therein, i’ll receive it with grace because in my gut, i know, the story is far from over. and all these dull days count for something that might mean more than what my sight can see right now. all these little 24 hour stories laced together equal one magnificent story.
so if you have that camera under your bed in a box, or the water colors you meant to pull out last summer but never did, or you’re left wondering why you spent so much time pouring into that one person, or you’re feeling a little displaced in life, or you’re left wondering why you spent so many hours learning that language you aren’t even speaking, or the career change isn’t going as planned, or if the only knowledge of your degree is your monthly loan payment, or you have an idea you just can’t shake, or you’re discouraged because you aren’t the mom you always imaged you would be, or if you’re 14, 28, 42, or 67…
guess what?
your story isn’t done yet.
it might be hard to see, but manoah has a scowl on his face because naomi’s pink balloons meant that she was having a baby sister (not a boy as he had hoped for).
but i can’t wait to meet my new niece in august!!!
baseball is fun and demanding and 3 times a week and just about to push me over the edge on what my brain can handle.
by anjuli
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