Dear Child of Mine,
Today was filled with lots of dirty work, the grit and grime of housekeeping that only gets done because of my deep sense of responsibility. If I don’t clean those windows and vacuum their screens and shorten the mini blinds and wash the deck chairs who will? Maybe I have high standards, maybe I’m high maintenance, but I just like my space to be clean and tidy every once in a while. Moving into a house where others have lived leaves my subconscious aware of the dust and germs that aren’t mine. Part of me wants to just ignore it. But I’ve been there, done that. The best option is just to straighten up, pull on my big girl pants, and get the job done. (But only when the mood strikes. I work best when I wait until the mood strikes.)
In the midst of all this cleaning, I had some wonderful conversations with three different loves of mine from Albion. Each one expressed the pain of missing me, no longer able to take it for granted that I’m a few streets away, couch waiting for them. They’re managing as best they can, but I think it’s still hard for them to come to terms with why we left. I know there are times that I wish I could have the best of both worlds, all of my worlds, together, tucked in around me.
My heart aches with and for those in New York who are asking, “Why.” And I look around me and see there is still much work to be done on this new home, in this new town, with this new family around us. But my work allowed my heart to resonate with the words of Ann Voskamp’s blog post.
It can be hard to prune good things that are blooming. It can be hard to remember why you are pruning.
Because there’s a counter-intuitiveness to it, this plucking off certain life activities that will yield good fruit. Some might even think it foolish to pare back, when the bloom and gifting apparent; a good harvest inevitable.
Yet it’s the pruning of seemingly good leaves that can grow a better life. To allow later seasons to yield the longed-for abundant crop.
And THAT, sweet Child, is why we had to say goodbye when things were so good – believing that God is preparing an even more abundant harvest than we could ask or imagine. But it required faith-following.
I don’t know what tomorrow will hold, let alone a year or ten from now. But I believe in the God who holds my future.
Praying for you,