Spring

Every year, it's the same.  The cold weather comes, and we retreat into our house for several months.  When spring arrives, we peel off our coats and boots and venture outside.  During the winter, it's not apparent that anything is growing.  Nothing seems new.  But in spring, it's like everything changes overnight.  Not just in nature, but in my kids too.  I see it on the playground, as they run and jump and climb further than they were able the previous fall.  This year is no exception.  After many summers guiding them along the monkey bars, James and Winston conquered them alone this year.  Michael is able to go on longer walks without the need for the stroller.

The thing I'm enjoying most, though, is how they play together.  It's not easy being the most important person to four different little ones, the one they want to play with, climb on, be entertained by.  But in the last month, I've been having a bit of a rest from it.  Because we go to the playground, and James pushes his little brother on the swings.  I passed out bottles of bubble solution and Winston blew bubbles for Michael and Girl to chase and pop.  Even little Michael pushed his sister in a car.

Our hearts go through the seasons too.  We begin in spring, fresh and new and gingerly stepping out.  We stretch out in the summer sun.  For those of you who garden, summer ends with harvest.  We produce in this season of joy.  And then fall comes.  It begins with bright colors and a welcome coolness, but by the end of fall, the ground has become hard and unyielding, the leaves are down and the flowers have lost their petals.  Winter begins.  It is bleak.  There are no colors, only cold that drives us inside and makes us bundle and cover and retreat.  Winter in the heart doesn't just last three months.  Sometimes it lasts for years.  We begin to wonder if all the good is behind us.  But the promise of this world is that all winters end, and another spring will come.  If you can just bear the winter, you can rejoice at the arrival of spring.

It's not like we spent the winter practicing for spring.  I didn't throw a frisbee in the living room with my kids to prepare.  But when we ran out the door on the first sunny day, suddenly they were tossing it around like they've been doing it for years.  Same with the seasons of the heart.  I spent many years lonely and isolated with my babies.  I didn't spend that time perfecting my friendship skills (if that's even a thing...).  Spring came for me when we joined our Village, and suddenly ladies were popping up like flowers in a garden, and I found myself surrounded by sisters.

Just like my kids show that they aren't little babies anymore by the new skills they've acquired, I have to recognize that I've come a long way since the fall.  I can't treat my friendships like a child.  We show our growth by how we take care of each other, when we sacrifice and look out for someone beyond ourselves.

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I wrote all that as spring dawned this year, as my children were astounding me with their growth and I was reflecting that I had grown quite a bit too.  Every spring, I am so energetic and excited.  I love to be outside, but not so much in the cold and bitter temperatures of winter, so I spend as much of spring as possible outside to make up for it.  And it's a good thing too, since clearing the yard and preparing the garden take intense work.  Then summer is busy and fun and it nourishes me just as quickly as it drains me, so that by the end of summer, I'm tired.  I'm ready to be done, to sit inside some more, maybe start a crochet project, watch some TV shows.  Now is no exception, especially since I've been sick or allergic or something for the past few weeks.  I'm tired.  I'm ready to gather the harvest and eat the feast and I'm ready for fall.

I was thinking about seasons, the annual calendar seasons, the heart seasons, the life seasons.  They all come and last for different amounts of time, but they are so similar in their incarnation.  I know that summer is ending in nature, but I think summer might be ending in my heart in some ways too.  Our church encourages an "abiding" season in August, a time to rest and recharge.  I did that this year, because it was the first time I felt a need to abide.  I struggled with the end of our last foster placement.  In our home, I had to keep everyone going and keep everyone together through this past year, and I had to pass the baton to my husband.  I needed to put down my burdens and let someone else be the strong one for a while.

Part of me struggles to abide, to be still, to rest.  I have gone for so long just running, running, taking care of little children and balancing our home life and having actual personal time feels foreign, even selfish.  Part of me wants to grab another kid to throw our family back into chaos, because that's what I know.  Through reflection and conversation this week, I'm starting to see the fallacy of that mentality.  Maybe it's okay to take it easy for a season.  Maybe it's okay to nurture the people already in my life without taking on anyone new.  But I still feel like that is in the future for us, another child, a larger family.  I can't imagine a point in my life when I will stop caring about orphans and foster kids and young people without a family.  I look at the elderly couples in my training classes and I see myself in 40 years.  Because my job, my career, has become the work of mothering, I don't see retirement as an option.  Do we ever stop being mothers?  Perhaps it will only be when I must rely on the care of others that I will stop trying to take care of these kids who have become my passion.