Reality

It's 4:01 AM. I've been up for the past 45 minutes, making a failing effort to go back to sleep. I suppose that's what happens when you let yourself collapse into bed at 9:00. That wasn't my plan. I still had a ridiculously optimistic list of things to accomplish. But, when I snuck into the room where Abe was supposed to be sleeping and I heard the words, "Mommy, I'm 'cared. Will you way with me for just a wittle minute?" I grew weak. I collapsed into bed and let his precious 3 years old lips kiss my eyelids and declare his unending love for me. It was worth it, even though my to-do list lies half completed on the nightstand. I know his 3 year old kisses will soon be a thing of the past. That's the sad reality of life.

The reality of life has been overwhelming me lately. Yesterday, my mom saw me struggling with my tasks and she asked me if she could help somehow. I replied that if she could just wiggle her nose and make all of the stuff go into the right piles, that'd be great. She answered back with the words, "Honey, if is could wiggle my nose and make what I want happen, you'd all be back in the beautiful house with all of your stuff on the other side of town." And I know that she wasn't being ugly, she was just telling the truth. She's been so brave through this whole thing, putting on her best face and trying to be strong. But I know that the truth is, seven gynormous pieces of her heart are about to relocate, and it's brutally hard on her. That's a tough reality to face every day.

It's tough because, if the truth be told, I would like to wiggle my nose and be back in my big beautiful house on the other side of town. I'd like all of my stuff to be neatly organized in my ridiculously large closets and stored in our beautiful furniture. I'd like my walk in attic full of homeschooling resources which would be neatly reorganized just in time to kick off my perfectly planned school year. I'd like my weekly meal plan to be hanging on the side of the fridge, just waiting for daddy to come home from work and for us to enjoy our normal family dinner prepared on my granite countertops. That's the truth. Well, some of the time it is.

Then, there are these moments where I remember why we're doing this. These moments when I take myself back to the call and the scripture that came with that call. These times when I remind myself that while those are all good things, and they were mine for a season, they are not the things to which God has for me now. I remember that He desires good things for me and that while I may never have "stuff" as nice as what I once owned, or a schedule as predictable and orderly as what I once had, He's going to give me things that are even richer. And, if that doesn't work, I go to the internet and look at pictures of the people, especially the children who are living without hope and that always does it.

Then the reality of the present comes again, the tears of a child who has had to say another goodbye or the decisions about which books or toys make the cut and I simply do the next thing, pushing my way through the madness. I think what is making this final sort so hard is the fact that what is left is the stuff that we really love. The easy stuff has all been long gone at this point. What's left is the stuff that's really dear to us, for one reason or another.

The worst this week was definitely the dress-up clothes box. It's been taunting me from the corner for weeks. I knew it had to be dealt with, but I've been putting it off. Finally, this week, I decided I couldn't wait any longer. Here's the thing, most of what was left in that box at this point are items that have been made by my mother, so there's the first reason why they are so dear. Most all of them were made for some special occasion, which is filled with memories of simpler times, leading us to reason number two. Finally, my kids have outgrown or nearly outgrown about 1/2 of the clothes in the box but still attempt to pour their bodies into them when they need just the right dress to play "civil war refugees" or "knights and princesses" in the backyard. This hammers home the reality that times are changing and my kids are growing up too fast. In the end I laundered them all, put the one that was torn aside, and space bagged the rest of them. Cop out? Maybe. Sanity saver? Definitely. I feel confident some little girl in West Africa will be delighted when they need to borrow a beautiful size 5 Dorothy costume or a perfectly detailed colonial dress. Hey, I've gotta deal with reality somehow, right?