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.

The wording's a bit off, but the sentiment is still there.

One of my favorite childhood memories is the one where my dad, exasperated with my younger sister, decided to "switch roles" with her one evening at dinner. Therefore, instead of seeing my little unruly sister squirm, wiggle, put her legs on the chair, her feet on the table, her elbows in her supper, it was instead my father, who is 6'4". You can imagine the delighted squeals of young girls as they watched this normally quite stoic, proper dad exaggerate the common inappropriate actions of a 6 year old.


I don't know if it accomplished his goal, but I am sure it helped us realize how ridiculous we looked to our parents at times. (I think we got to play the parents, too, so there was a fair amount of scolding going on as well.)


Anyhow, off and on I repeat this at times with my own three year old. This morning, for instance, he came downstairs and informed me that he was going to take ONE MORE nap before he went outside with me. I dramatically laid down on the couch, squishing his legs, and explained in an exasperated tone that I, too, needed a nap.


But almost immediately I began to squirm. Kick my legs in circles, lift my head up and down, and sing songs loudly. Each of these antics was met with "You stop that!" or "Lay down now!" Also? We are at the "why" stage, where each of my statements, questions, or directives is met with "Why?" So, of course I had to throw a couple of these in there.

"Put your leg down!"

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to do that!"

This went on for a number of minutes until I informed him that I simply could not sleep.

This was the last straw.
"No, we have to TAKE a NAP."
"Why?"
"Because God said we always take a nap!"

Now, I have never used this reasoning with him, but I think I am going to start.
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We had another loud, jarring thunderstorm in the middle of the night a few days ago. Although neither Phil nor I act afraid during these storms (although admittedly my stomach sometimes does turn flip-flops during the closest lightning strikes) Ryan absolutely abhors storms. He talks about them constantly "Is it going to storm tonight?" or "Do you see that cloud over there? It looks like rain!"
So, when this huge storm hit as we were going to bed that night, Ryan was quite concerned. After much comforting and coercion, he finally went to sleep. The thunder had died down and he was exhausted from the worry of it all.
The next morning at breakfast, I started up a casual conversation with him about it.
"So, that was quite a storm last night, eh?"
"Yeah mom! It was a big one! A big TOMATO* storm!"

Did you know Iowa has tomato storms? Because if so, I would be happy. My tomato plants wilted so badly that I had to pull the plants after only two batches of salsa. This, compared to last year, when we picked tomatoes for more than 52 quarts of whole tomatoes, three batches of salsa, and one dryer full (for dried tomatoes). Thankfully, the bumper crop of tomatoes last year will more than sustain us one more year. If it's one thing I am learning about gardening and canning, it's that you take it when you get it. You never know what the next year will hold...draught, floods, late frosts.
Now, if there happened to be chocolate storms, that might even be a bit better. That's the stuff of dreams, right there.
*(I suppose he meant tornado, but don't worry grandma's, there were no funnel clouds).

Why I Need Lists

To further illustrate the vast chasm between my sister's preparedness and my own lack of it:

On the phone:
Kristina:I almost posted in the comments of your blog that my hospital bag has:
15 diapers, but half are newborn and half are size one diapers.
Three pacifiers with little holders to clip on her clothes.
Three changes of clothes.
A toy. I know she won't need it, but its there anyway. Just in case.

Tracy: (Laughing) And you know what is awful? Even though I have already been to the hospital and even though I wrote that post, I still have nothing packed.

Kristina: I also have three copies of the list of people who need to be notified and when (like, when I am admitted, updates, and when she's born).

Tracy: Don't you have a cell phone?

Kristina: BUT what if the cell phones can't be used? Or what if I don't have the wherewithal to tell someone who needs to be called? A paper copy would then be necessary. It suggested doing it in "the book".

Tracy: Ha- those books were made for people like you!

Kristina: No, they were made for people like you. People like me think of these things.