A new journey

Three Novembers ago, we boarded a plane headed for farm country.
I looked down. The world below was covered in a blanked of white. Tears stung my eyes, threatening to spill. I pulled my baby. now seven months old, a bit closer. The heart-split happening mid-air, above the great nation spread below- a world divided. It was a beginning. A terrifying, jolting, wondrous, faithful beginning. Just two days before we'd had a teary, sweet Thanksgiving, filled with the aromas and people that had accompanied the major holidays for my first 23 years. It felt right, real, and on this particular occasion, solemn.
Above that great land, in the hours which transported my life between the world that was and the world that was to come, my heart cried for a respite from the turmoil. This dichotomy, the pull between here and there, this life and that, ebbs and flows, pushes and pulls, and has since that first flight, grown fainter, but is an ever present reality for me.
I held that little boy, small, sleeping, precious and unrambunctious, knowing that tomorrow he would wake up to his mom. And then I would be with him all day. I would make him his food, care for him when he nosedived learning to crawl. It would be his mom that would reach down and rescue him, wide-eyed and arms outstretched, after a long nap. After seven months as manager/mom, spending so much of my best energy focused on building another's castle, I was ready to be a mom-only.
The rest of the world was in a frenzy, lapping up the best deals at their local retailers, hastily devouring ads and planning elaborate shopping days that started before the first light of day. This would have been my world, only from the inside-out. Holiday hours for retail managers were in the 60's, at least 6 days per week, late into the night (or early into the morning, depending on perspective) and that one day off would be a mid-week break. My job this holiday season would have been no different. So as I sat on this plane, holding that sweet baby of mine, I distinctly felt the gift that had been given to me- I was to experience life as a mom, Christmas as calming, the New Year as renewal.
I am not good at this job. There are days that I wonder who in the world hired me for such a role. And then I am hit with the realization that God knew what He was doing- motherhood is not for the weak. It is for those willing to persevere, be patient, and above all, it is for those who can love.
That moment, that distinct moment is etched quite clearly in my mind. His tiny hand wrapping around my finger, his eyes closed and his body warm with sleep much needed. My mind swirled with longing for home, and then, sporadically, there was a spirit of adventure, although not one that I was willing to admit to or indulge. But it was there, bubbling underneath the surface. This, I knew deep down, was an adventure of the highest sorts.
And, in my innocence, I was right. Right in the way someone who has never seen a tree, after hearing it described and pondering it in thought might say "that sounds large, leafy, and wonderful." Its magnitude, its precise, intricate, and grandiose wonder is impossible for one to comprehend until seen, touched, and felt.
And, true to His way, the way I saw our journey here, and the way He had it all planned out, were worlds apart. Being human, I much prefer a simple, straight line, A to B. But oh, how I would have missed out! The curves, friends, are what make the road interesting. An Iowan mile can be driven without thought. And there can be comfort in seeing the entire road, the entire way. But the curves of a Washington road are beautiful, dangerous, alive with trees and wildlife, take you past cliffs where you can see seemingly forever out to the deep ocean. With only one life, can I afford to miss the scenic route? More specifically, can I afford to miss the route set aside for me by God, only because I prefer the simple A to B, without hills and valleys, cliffs or towering rock formations? We love to drive past those magnificent pieces of earth, in awe of their beauty and depth, but so resist becoming such a creation.
Three winters later, Lord, let me stay the course, with renewed determination to do it Your way, hills, valleys, cliffs and all.