It comes to me at the oddest moments. In those little bits of time that I have to myself, where, despite the noise around me, whatever task I'm performing has my undivided attention and I can be alone with my thoughts. Today it was while I was slicing oranges- a mundane task at best. And something that I've never really done before. I mean, of course I've sliced oranges before, but in the past it has been for an outside purpose: fruit salad for a potluck picnic, a kid's school party, after practice snacks. This time, all I was doing was simply slicing oranges for my children's breakfast.
And it came to me then.
How different my life is now.
In the Before Time, I would desperately cling to sleep every morning, even as I heard my children waking for school. I would call out to my older children to stop bickering and to help their younger siblings get breakfast. It was only after 30 or so minutes of laying in bed, wishing that I had another hour to sleep, that I would exhale sharply and swing my feet over the side of the bed and fumble my way to the opening of my day.
In the Before Time, I would sit myself on the sofa while my children ate their breakfasts and listen to their chatter that would eventually devolve into an argument and between sips of coffee tell them to hurry up and get dressed and get their school things. At five minutes before we had to leave in order to get everyone to school on time, I would throw on a marginally acceptable outfit (just in case of a freak accident, otherwise it would have been my pajamas all the way) and rush everyone out the door like a stream of Army paratroopers jumping out of the back of a C-130.
In the Before Time, I would drop them off and I would go back home and I would have 3 hours to myself (the youngest was still in preschool and I hadn't yet started working as a substitute at the school) to do whatever I wanted. Of course that probably should've meant that I was cleaning or organizing or preparing for a healthy dinner. Instead, I usually plopped myself on the couch, coffee in hand, to watch TV and knit or journal. I gave myself a wide berth when it came to grace for myself, after all, I hadn't really been alone since 2002.
In the Before Time, I would laze my way through the afternoon, usually napping when the preschooler napped. It really was an embarrassment of riches to be able to do so. Then I would pick up the olders from school, we would fight our way through homework and dinner prep time, which more often than not would result in my exasperation and frustration and we would eat out. Like I said, an embarrassment of riches.
I squandered so much time.
And time is something you can never get back.
Once it's spent, it's gone.
[Insert all the other adages about wasting time here]
But now in the broken pieces of the Before Time that lay at my feet, broken pieces that I was always assumed we would use to build our life back to what it once was, I find that I enjoy the slowness of it. I treasure the moments when my still-sleepy girl pads into my room, lifts the covers that cocoon me and tucks herself tight against my side and we lay in the warmth under the quilt just simply resting with one another. I take those moments and whisper to her how smart and funny I think she is and we quietly giggle together until one of the middle brothers shakes off his sleep and shuffles into my room to say "good morning" and then runs off to feed himself because he has ADHD and simply cannot wait now that his body is trying to make up for the years when it did not grow. She remains by my side and I breathe her in, this female gift that I had begged God for for so many years. Then another middle brother comes in and he is still young enough to want to tuckle himself up against my other side and he squeezes me and without fail says "I love you mom" and I stroke his still-soft forehead and I say it right back and I squeeze him tight. I don't dread getting out of bed (although a little more sleep wouldn't hurt) because our day starts quiet and slow and it starts in warm togetherness rather than in cold separateness.
They harangue me (gently and with laughter) until I'm willing to surrender the warmth of the bed (or until my bladder can't wait any longer. Hey, after five kids, I'm lucky it's still where it belongs in my rearranged-by-big-babies-insides) to throw on a sweater and make them breakfast.
Now we are in the After Time.
The life that I never wanted.
But the life that I needed.
And so here we are, full circle, back at slicing oranges. Because this simple act is one that I wouldn't have taken in the Before Time. I simply would have spent more money on the tiny, easy to peel Clementines and they could just do it themselves. The After Time is where my heart is learning to bend toward serving rather than making my own life easier. It is where I learn that these slow mornings are gifts, a reclaiming of time that I had squandered before. It is where I learn that taking time to do things completely (instead of taking shortcuts just to be done) is something to be delighted in. It is where we have time to sit and enjoy and read God's Word together (and wiggle and bicker and make funny faces at one another and bother each other) and pray together before our school day starts in earnest. The After Time has afforded us what the Before Time in all its Earthly riches never could: each other.
Life isn't perfect-far from it actually- but these moments and my realization of how important they are, make it quite beautiful.
~M~
In the Before Time, I would sit myself on the sofa while my children ate their breakfasts and listen to their chatter that would eventually devolve into an argument and between sips of coffee tell them to hurry up and get dressed and get their school things. At five minutes before we had to leave in order to get everyone to school on time, I would throw on a marginally acceptable outfit (just in case of a freak accident, otherwise it would have been my pajamas all the way) and rush everyone out the door like a stream of Army paratroopers jumping out of the back of a C-130.
In the Before Time, I would drop them off and I would go back home and I would have 3 hours to myself (the youngest was still in preschool and I hadn't yet started working as a substitute at the school) to do whatever I wanted. Of course that probably should've meant that I was cleaning or organizing or preparing for a healthy dinner. Instead, I usually plopped myself on the couch, coffee in hand, to watch TV and knit or journal. I gave myself a wide berth when it came to grace for myself, after all, I hadn't really been alone since 2002.
In the Before Time, I would laze my way through the afternoon, usually napping when the preschooler napped. It really was an embarrassment of riches to be able to do so. Then I would pick up the olders from school, we would fight our way through homework and dinner prep time, which more often than not would result in my exasperation and frustration and we would eat out. Like I said, an embarrassment of riches.
I squandered so much time.
And time is something you can never get back.
Once it's spent, it's gone.
[Insert all the other adages about wasting time here]
But now in the broken pieces of the Before Time that lay at my feet, broken pieces that I was always assumed we would use to build our life back to what it once was, I find that I enjoy the slowness of it. I treasure the moments when my still-sleepy girl pads into my room, lifts the covers that cocoon me and tucks herself tight against my side and we lay in the warmth under the quilt just simply resting with one another. I take those moments and whisper to her how smart and funny I think she is and we quietly giggle together until one of the middle brothers shakes off his sleep and shuffles into my room to say "good morning" and then runs off to feed himself because he has ADHD and simply cannot wait now that his body is trying to make up for the years when it did not grow. She remains by my side and I breathe her in, this female gift that I had begged God for for so many years. Then another middle brother comes in and he is still young enough to want to tuckle himself up against my other side and he squeezes me and without fail says "I love you mom" and I stroke his still-soft forehead and I say it right back and I squeeze him tight. I don't dread getting out of bed (although a little more sleep wouldn't hurt) because our day starts quiet and slow and it starts in warm togetherness rather than in cold separateness.
They harangue me (gently and with laughter) until I'm willing to surrender the warmth of the bed (or until my bladder can't wait any longer. Hey, after five kids, I'm lucky it's still where it belongs in my rearranged-by-big-babies-insides) to throw on a sweater and make them breakfast.
Now we are in the After Time.
The life that I never wanted.
But the life that I needed.
And so here we are, full circle, back at slicing oranges. Because this simple act is one that I wouldn't have taken in the Before Time. I simply would have spent more money on the tiny, easy to peel Clementines and they could just do it themselves. The After Time is where my heart is learning to bend toward serving rather than making my own life easier. It is where I learn that these slow mornings are gifts, a reclaiming of time that I had squandered before. It is where I learn that taking time to do things completely (instead of taking shortcuts just to be done) is something to be delighted in. It is where we have time to sit and enjoy and read God's Word together (and wiggle and bicker and make funny faces at one another and bother each other) and pray together before our school day starts in earnest. The After Time has afforded us what the Before Time in all its Earthly riches never could: each other.
Life isn't perfect-far from it actually- but these moments and my realization of how important they are, make it quite beautiful.
~M~
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