I share my pillow with a tiny human. LIT RA LY. She has been waking between the morning hours of 4 and 5, of which I previously did not know existed. Since her internal alarm clock has been hijacked, I have the misfortune of explaining we are not getting out of bed until the sun comes up because, CHILD, IT IS STILL NIGHT TIME.
Laying in your own bed unable to sleep is a cruel form of torture.
I blame this recent insomnia on our current familial condition: Undone. Sarah Bessey wrote a little ol’ fashioned blog post about moving and memory making and ordinary life beginning again once you get settled into a new place. It was lovely.
And so distant from my reality.
Physically speaking, our house is completely undone. Most of our belongings have been sold or stored, what’s left has been pushed aside so every inch of this place can be wiped clean (which is a tragic misunderstanding, 100-year-old houses are never “clean”, they’re just less dusty.) painted, then rearranged and staged just so.
It all feels undone, because, it is. As I write there are mop buckets and paint cans assaulting my kitchen. Our kids beds have been in the center of their room for nearly a week, which apparently they are not keen on because I have been waking up to four Matrix style pods surrounding my bed each morning. (Ulterior sleep deprived reality. Which of those pills will make my kid sleep until 7?)
There’s a ladder in the hallway and I have been informed we will not be refilling the gas tank for our grill, as if my culinary ineptitude needed the additional challenge. It’s not like I grilled three times a week, IT’S FINE. My hammock has been taken down [SIGH], because as of this morning, our porch looks like this:
We moved into this house with one blond-haired, green-eyed toddler and are leaving it with an entire tribe. We arrived amidst relational ash and are leaving with gladness we made it out alive. And married. We’ve suffered through cancer and death and three failed adoptions. We’ve celebrated birth and life and grafting-in (times three) and loss and miraculous movements of God. Habakkuk was so right, the Lord is doing a work I never would have believed if someone told me about it. I also wouldn’t have signed up for it.
If you stood before me five and a half years ago, and laid out what our time here would hold, I would have laughed in your face. And then ran for the hills.
I was so naive, so selfish. So still trying to figure it all out without a clue where to begin.
Maturity happened here. We’ve come undone over and over and over again. We’ve been broken and broken in. We’ve become well versed in apologetics and apologies. We’ve fought for and surrendered to grace. We’re slowly becoming fluent in the language of mercy.
This current phase = not my favorite. BUT, I recognize that in order to appreciate ordinary everyday living life, you have to get a little undone first.
Coming undone shows us what really matters – who really matters – and how to love them best in the midst of the unknown and confusion and chaos and transition. How to get to where we’re going, our back together self, well.
How do we get there well?
I’m all angsty about this next season, moving into a new culture and new context and new home. When I’m not negotiating with a three-year old at the 4am hour, I often find myself lying in bed awake anyhow, dreaming and praying and Pinning and wondering about our new home, our new season of life. What will it look like to be undone and put back together in a very different place surrounded by very different people? I’m starting to suspect that maybe, they aren’t that different from us after all.
I think we all want the same things, to love and be loved in the midst of the unknown and confusion and chaos and transition and undoing. We all want to appreciate ordinary everyday living life, and get where we’re going, well.