And just like that, we are a few days away from a new school year beginning, as well as my return to my virtual office.
This week has consisted of daily journaling in effort to more thoroughly process my thoughts, how I’m feeling, and of course, express gratitude for the many things my eyes were either opened to, or more widely opened to these past eight weeks.
While I am sad that this season is coming to a close, a season that has been so good for me and my family, I do have a natural optimism for what is to come for the latter part of 2023. Fully ready or not remains an invitation to move forward with the year, with what I have learned, and I am still learning.
Here is the first set of lessons from my slow summer at home:
1. Joy and sorrow can co-exist.
One July evening, a summer storm came passing through our area during dinner. For a moment the sky grew dark as it does, but quickly brightened up soon after. The rain persisted however and it was one of those sights that catches you off guard — the sun beamed brightly in a distance yet there remained a torrential downpour simultaneously. As Jack and I sat on our front porch, I learned it to be a visible reminder of the truth that joy and sorrow are linked and possible to experience at the same time.
Cut flowers have afforded me further reflection on this as well. This summer season, the same seeds I sowed in late February have brought forth various, colorful flowers, from which I have been able to create bouquets with to adorn our kitchen table. On any given day, one flower may be wilted, while another still stands proudly, flourishing. Life and death, so to speak.
All this to say, the start of my maternity leave was far from what I expected, and in a new way I traversed a path forged by the co-existence of joy and sorrow.
2. Rest is necessary.
Opting to align my leave of absence with the cadence of summer really was the best for all of us (unbeknownst to me last October when I begrudgingly returned to work after 6 short weeks with Tomie as a newborn). While I had already moved on from my bitterness, I retrospectively learned the Holy Spirit’s orchestration in all of this was, in fact, perfect.
I rested, a lot, out of necessity but also by choice. And I learned not to feel guilty or slothful about it. For the sake of my wellbeing it was indeed necessary, just as it is after a full work day and on the Lord’s Day. Of course this did not mean I relinquished the obligations of my vocation, but upon completion of daily tasks, I would doubly make the effort to welcome rest, whether it was during afternoon quiet time or after the house had gone to sleep. Even with all of our adventures and travel, we had our recovery days, too.
My hope is that I take into this upcoming fall season the same discipline toward a restful disposition. Summer or not, rest is necessary through all seasons.
3. Nourishing food & savoring bites.
Complementing the slow down of summer was the spark of creativity in the kitchen, in the form of learning new recipes for dinner, dessert, or creating homemade cleaners — all from scratch. I also am relearning to eat not just to be full, but to more consciously nourish my body while appreciating the lost art of slow cooking and slow, mindful eating.
This summer I cooked just about all the meals — breakfast, lunch, dinner. Apart from dinner when we would eat all together, I grew in the habit of eating before the kids during breakfast and/or lunch, either because the kids were still asleep or I needed to be one step ahead to tend to my little ones in high chairs. I know from experience in my early years of motherhood that it is easy to forget about oneself when caring for others, so learning to “put my oxygen mask first” before anyone else, in the context of a meal in order to better function, was important to me this season.
This naturally allowed me to savor my bite as well — to enjoy the flavors and use of my senses, to reflect, to read or journal between bites. The very simple mental shift to this art had more profound effects than I imagined.
Similar to rest, the school year regularly falls incongruent with this. A practical takeaway for me is to get into the habit of making more slow cooker meals and prepping the night before, and to put forth greater effort in not eating at my desk in front of a computer. Will report back on how that goes.
4. Gardening as self-care.
If you follow me on Instagram, you have perhaps seen me share often how therapeutic it has been tending a garden. As a rookie who has only started seriously gardening this year, my few moments a day spent in the yard has taught me many a lesson on life cycles, the “sweat off my brow” behind it all, patience, and trust, all of which have an evergreen parallel to matters of my journey of faith. It’s no wonder that Scripture references nature frequently, and references a garden at the beginning, middle, and end.
Apart from pruning and preparing the soil, I don’t have any plans for a fall or winter garden. I know my limits, especially at this time of the year. The realistic side of me finds contentment in watching a once-flourishing spring & summer garden wither up and die in the colder months.
I believe there is something poetic and graceful about that.
5. The importance of the present moment.
Almost a month ago, we spent a day at Carolina Beach in North Carolina. For periods at a time I sat still at the shore, watching James and Lucy brave the waves as they leapt up each time they crashed.
I felt the winds blow, the sun beam on my back, and listened to the ocean waves come and go as the kids yelled in excitement. They had no fears of getting swallowed up with the ocean, knowing that mom was at a close distance, watching.
A valuable lesson in spiritual direction weeks prior to our vacation was the importance of the present moment.
Before my leave even began, I already had questions on my mind coupled with the unhealthy desire for answers before returning to work that had been weighing on me.
In several of my reflections in July, I likened the cross I was carrying (and continue to carry) to the Scripture passage of Peter walking on water to Jesus. Understanding my limitations and weaknesses, I easily imagined myself sinking beneath the surface from the weight of my doubt and my worries from not having answers, resolutions, or a clear direction on what comes next.
Being on that shore at Carolina Beach weeks later, I experienced healing. It’s where I came to believe that just like my children fearlessly in this vast body of water was an invitation for me not to panic as the waves come, but the belief of Christ being there, and holding fast to Him at the shore when the waves rise.
Focusing on Christ in the present moment, especially in midst of strong currents, is to not look for the answers that are to be revealed in the future, but to embrace the suffering, the cross I am given within his anchored embrace.
And not just that, but also to not hold out from fully living my life if my questions aren’t answered right away.
Daily I am invited to live each moment and allow the Lord to love me in those moments — to heal me and to rest in Him whether the storms have passed or grow more hostile.
More to come of this.
In the meantime, subscribe to my blog to be alerted for when I publish Part 2, which I will share on growing in my vocation as wife + mother, prayer input and output, edifying reads, the gift of interruptions, and completing long overdue tasks.
This House You're Building 