It’s Thursday. 12:30PM. Meg is trying to wrangle our son down for a nap. I just did some dishes and separated laundry. We woke up fairly early after a fractured night of sleep, and I took James upstairs to hang while Meg tried to get a few more minutes of rest alone. About an hour and a half later, when James was hungry again, Meg came up.
She and I had breakfasts consisting of coffee, a few cookies, then an hour or so later, smoothies. We tried (but not very hard) to clean ourselves up enough for the day, talked for a bit, and here we are now. I have no idea when they’ll wake up, what mood James will be in, and what we’re going to do next. I’m not really sure what we’ll have for dinner, or if we’ll even get out of the house. Today is a day off for me, and this is fairly typical.
Our life isn’t glamorous, by any means. Most of the time it’s not really Instagram-worthy, unless y’all are cool with drool everywhere and tired, smiling faces. Our son certainly is the cutest thing ever, but our life? Ehhh, depends.
But, it’s real. It’s amazing. It’s sometimes difficult. It’s always rewarding. It’s ours.
We have lots of things we’d like to do today or tomorrow, or anytime soon, but we’ve learned (still learning) to adjust our expectations for how things will go and just exactly how much control we actually have over everything. Obviously, having a little human in your arms the vast majority of the time limits your schedule and your priorities a bit. I’m thankful for that (in my good moments), because it helps me slow down and realize grace is a lot closer to me and at play in our lives than I realize. James, and Meg for that matter, help me see more clearly every day that life is an absolute gift, one that we don’t really deserve. And in all the craziness of our days we can still access God’s grace – even if that looks like a simple giggle or smile from our son, or a small window of time where we all sleep quietly at the same time, or when we can eat a full meal without interruption. We just have to be willing to look for it.
The window through which I see God working has outgrown its old borders. In some way, I hope you all get to experience that. Having a child will sure do it. But it’d be great to remember what it’s like to finish a beer while it’s still cold.