We Are Called To Be paRENTs.

I slowly open one eye. 

Yep, morning. 

Begrudgingly, I open both eyes and roll out of bed. I make the walk, still half asleep, to the bathroom to potty. Morning came too quickly. Why does it always do that?

In the kitchen, I guzzle down some coffee while starting the kettle to make some oatmeal. It is September, after all, which makes it the first month even remotely cool enough to have oatmeal for breakfast. 

Here is where my mornings can go one of two ways. 

Scenario one: It is the ungodly hour of 5:30 IN THE MORNING and I scarf down my oatmeal, dress for work in the dark (we are in a season of weird sleeping and have the oldest in our room), and scoot out the door. I have a seven minute drive to work. It is in those brief moments I can do what I want. Podcast? Music? Silence? Yes. SILENCE IS GOLDEN. 

Scenario two: The kids hear someone stirring in the kitchen and come running like hungry lions ready to devour their prey. My oatmeal, you wonder? It is now their oatmeal. This is okay. I am told that there will be a time when they are old enough to make themselves their own food. THINK OF ALL THE FREE TIME I WILL HAVE. SO MANY ACTIVITIES. 

Our days with these two girls in our little home by the river have been so good for us. We are renting our home from a nice couple who have taken such great care of us. 

A few weekends ago, I started a project of painting the window shutters outside. The way I tend to do projects is to start about 2-15 more projects in my head while working. I go from painting the shutters, to wanting to paint the entire house, to thinking we could use a front porch, to wondering how great life would be if we added on a second bathroom?? 

It was while I was taking a painting break and picking a few weeds from the garden, that I thought: this is not our forever home. At some point we are going to have to turn our keys back over to the owners. Instead of feeling bummed that I will not get to enjoy the fruits of our labor forever, I do have a bit of pride about returning the home to the owners and them being able to see how well we loved and cared for their space. 

In a way, that is how it is with my baby girls. They are mine for just a short time. God picked Joshua and I to raise them for this season, but they are ultimately His. 

I have been reading about Kintsugi (means, to patch with gold.) So, Kintsugi is a Japanese tradition in which broken pieces of pottery are repaired with metallic-infused lacquer. The potter takes no care to hide the cracks. There are no attempts to cover up the cracks that were made. Instead, the crack is shown off in all its glory. Illuminated with gold. With respect. 

Pieced together – not to be made new but to be changed. 


I am thankful for a God that will take my broken pieces, and patch them back together. To see the breaks I have made in my life and as a mother and call them beautiful. Worthy of gold. 

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