relentless showing up

 A parsonage with high ceilings and polished wood in a tiny Wisconsin town, a home run by a mother who loves that small town, her church, the snow, and her husband.  She is skilled in making a house a home and her careful touches shine from every corner. Our guest room had a basket with clean towels, water bottles, and snacks; it was more warm and personal than any hotel room could have been.

And her children are everywhere! 

A tiny superman robe, booster seats for the car, job lists and burp rags and legos and early bedtimes… I inhabited this world for so many years, but we no longer live here. I joke with my son about his old superhero PJs and how I used to have to reattach his cape like it was my full time job. I pat his broad shoulders and look up at him; it’s even hard for me to believe this man-child once had a tiny boy body.

Those little kid days were so wonderful and sweet and relentless and utterly flattening. I watch my friend serve and love in her circle and then widen it out to include us, so gracefully; I want to tell her I think she’s a superhero but I'm not sure how to say it.

So I tell her yes,  I slept great and thanks so much for the coffee and sausage. And I lean my head on my big-girl's shoulder for a minute, before we say goodbye, and I know my other kids are wondering if I’m going to cry “like nana always does.”

She’s apologetic because she has to leave to run a child to a thing. Of course we would love to stay and chat for days, but her relentless job is calling and so is mine. 

Relentless: that’s what I remember about the younger years. Delightful moments, squeaky voices, and constant, relentless needs. And I remember how hard it was to keep showing up, to every day put hands and heart and back and voice into a job that was never done, that was never completed perfectly, walking on crunchy floors, trying to hard to see and catch little bits of beauty but just feeling so, so tired and so, so needed.

She just keeps showing up, and it’s not perfect, and she has to pray for strength and help so often that she wonders if she is nagging God or doing the right thing in learning how to lean on Him in prayer every five minutes.

And that’s family:  showing up, with the kids and the questions. Making a home.  And sometimes, down to your very body, BEING a home.

For a little while.

Until the seasons change, and showing up starts to look more like letting go; like handing over the keys, hugging goodbye, saying less and praying more.   And I have to pray for strength and help so often that I wonder if I am nagging God or doing the right thing in learning how to lean on Him in prayer every five minutes.

The growing pain-joys are relentless, and my eyes stream with grief-gratitude as I drive home.  

Father, keep showing up for us as the seasons change. May your presence and your grace be as relentless as our need for it. Amen.