Sweaty and tired, my body feels like its moving through water. As the lazy August heat envelopes me like a heavy blanket, every movement feels slow and labored.
And the words. The words that once spilled out of me like a sieve feel dried up and sour.
I understand now why most people think it only takes nine months to make a baby– because the tenth month is a stalemate: a long, slow surrender.
The nursery is left unfinished, the list of to do’s left undone, but I am done.
I can’t say I’m ready. Who can be ready for the altering change of new life?
But I’m ready to suck in a breath of fresh air, hold it in my lungs, squeeze my eyes shut tight, and leap onto the next page; into an unwritten chapter. I know the genre won’t be defined: it will come in a mix of adventure, suspense, romance, sadness, and whimsy. But just like with any life altering change, at a certain point I know I need to let go of the last sentence, draw a period, and begin again.
But I’m still here. I close my eyes at night thinking any day my life could change, but then I wake up, and it’s a new day, but I’m still on the same page. My body still swollen with expectation.
As I tore about in bed last night, hot and uncomfortable, I saw my phone light up and make a grating noise against the wood of my night stand, alerting me to a new message. I picked up the phone with relief, and took a reprieve from my restless dance to read:
“Dear Lindsay: I came across a photo of me the day before my son was born. Gives “big” new meaning. He was born the next day 8 lbs 15 oz.
I felt uncomfortable just looking at it-
But I think it is now my favorite photo of myself. Problem is, you don’t realize how wonderful these last couple weeks are until they’re gone–because you’re so stinking uncomfortable and impatient!
That baby is safe and sound, loving your movements and voice, not hungry, not tired, not poopy. This is a great time, these last couple weeks. You are blessed–hormones and all.”
It was what I needed to hear. I’ve been so focused on the next page that I’ve forgotten the life being written around me. These are our last days as a family of three in this slow, happy rhythm. And instead of fixing my eyes on the blank page ahead, I needed to be guided back to the blinking cursor on the page being written.
You have a whole book ahead of you to write with many new and exciting chapters. As the words fly out onto the pages, creating your life story, take a moment to look at the cursor, breathe in your surroundings and savor the life that is being written around you.
Too often we don’t appreciate a sunset until we see it in pictures, or relish the smell of a fresh cooked meal until we try to describe it. We don’t say the words that fill our heart in the moment, but hang on to them until it is too late.
sa·vor /sāvər/ verb: enjoy or appreciate (something pleasant) completely, especially by dwelling on it.
I can’t teach you how to savor. It’s a graceful art learned in living that I still haven’t mastered. I will tell you, that regrets usually come wrapped in missed opportunities and ingratitude. I’ve never felt the sting of regret from the days I’ve lived deliberately.
I do know that on the days I feel stuck, when my words feel dried up and sour, that is when I need to refocus my eyes on a God that breathes HIS Word and Life into everything.
And even though my circumstances might leave me bored or frustrated, or resigned, I know that He will never leave me exactly where I am. And just a word from Him will leave me a changed person. Because after all, He is the author of the greatest love story of all.