We got back from our trip two weeks ago today. Our trip was full of time with family and good food, but even such it has been an adjustment to be home again after so many days away. Reestablishing our rhythm with my children has looked more like conflict and boundaries than I’d have ever chosen. I feel worn and empty from the work it takes to come back. My words feel gone by the end of the day.
An invitation to name things with the Lord.
An invitation to grieve, with or without words.
An invitation to pause and savor a sweet moment.
An invitation to return.
An invitation to change.
An invitation to rest.
I may not have words for all that is happening in my heart, at least not yet. But I’m doing my best to lean into this invitation, whether it means crying in Starbucks or reading someone else’s wisdom; smelling the tomatoes or picking the flowers; scooping up my boy or soaking up my girl telling me I’m the best mama ever.
As backwards as it may feel, I think these are the things that will give me my words again. I feel so much pressure to be farther along, more settled, more something. Yet, this is where the Lord meets me: in the process, in the mess, in the middle, with or without words. He is with me.