I wrote so many thoughts over the weekend and not one of them is ready for print. Not even on the internet.
I did, however, have a breakthrough last night when I realized the post I had written was the very thing I needed for something else but was definitely not the right thing to post here.
Sometimes, I wish I had written things for people to read when I was so sure, so certain of equations and sums.
If I am this sort of wife then, if I am this sort of mom then, if I am this sort of worker then . . .
But I’m very glad I didn’t. Because now, as much as I may like to think a thing should be this way, or this effort should produce this result, I know outcomes are not always up to me.
Perhaps that is the real crisis of mid-life.
Suddenly, the things you thought were real and true and guaranteed do not turn out as you expected.
The marriage you thought was unbreakable is broken. The effort you put in seems wasted. Children grow up and make their own choices in spite of (and sometimes to spite) you.
I am more reluctant now to open my mouth with certainty. Because what will come of it all is not yet known.
Because the important of yesterday fades as the walk becomes more by faith less by sight. Where I once thought I had a measure of control, I have discovered I have none at all. And the great mystery to me is that the less I am sure of myself, the more I am sure of God.
Because if you ask me if I believe people can change, I will say yes without a shade of doubt.
Ask me if there is hope in the worst of circumstances, and I will say always and never give up.
Ask me if the broken can be restored, and I will say nothing is so broken it cannot be mended.
Ask me how to parent a child, and I will say pray always without ceasing.
Ask me how to keep a marriage together, and I will say forgive.
Most things I write need to sit a while . . . and then filter through life and be worked out . . .