I'm not sure if it's by perception or reality but my days have always seemed defined by extremes. As soon as a chapter is decided I am flooded by seemingly two alternatives: freedom or constraint. None of that was clearer than when I went back into the classroom. Before the ink was dry on the contract my air seized up. Adding to that my decision to pursue a rigorous teaching license and freedom was a thing of the past. My tribe definitely rallied this year as mama's hours and energies were spent away on other mama's children who needed me more. Out of the last hundred nights, less than ten were spent on the familiar corner of the couch my best friend and a pint of ice cream. Some days love was a tired hug while loading the dishwasher. I spent Sunday mornings singing through songs of hope and grace with blurred eyes.
I wish I could see the gray area in these seasons of life. Do I have to re-frame my expectations every day? Apparently yes. I am just going to admit that I will never figure it out. That there will always be sacrifice and joy and forgiveness and small acts of obedience followed by deep rebellion. This is my life every day. Reminding myself that worship is a task of surrender. It is so tempting to hang all of my hopes onto long summer days but I don't want to be the girl who's joy is wrapped up in circumstances, even if they are laced in nap swings on a Tuesday afternoon and white sand beaches. I want to receive the grace to be present in the messiness of angry kids crying in my lap and parents who are out of answers. I want to be ok in the broken and not long for the easy way out.
So I will breathe His name deeply each morning as I drive in and I will ask Him to do the work I feel so ill equipped to do. I will continue to comb these days for beauty and strain for joy in the chaos.
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