I thought it was late for the lilies to be flowering but Mom says they're late bloomers, each bloom lasting only a day.
The garden is full of parables.
I think I'm in a season of blooming, or maybe I'm just now noticing my blooms. In fact, everyone in my family is at a point of blooming.
The thing I keep thinking about is how it all looks different than I thought it would. That seems to be the theme of a person's 4th decade. Looking back I see that I was blooming and I didn't know it. Sometimes I didn't notice the flowers, or I thought my way of blooming wasn't good enough. I've never felt productive in the American sense of the word.
My choice to stay home with my children was challenged by in-laws and my husband's employers. Homeschooling was questioned the same way. I doubted myself many days. This week I've been sorting through fifteen years worth of books, papers, and artwork and, frankly, I am impressed.
Even the years I believed to be fallow produced beauty.
Learning how my children learned, researching the heck out of dyslexia, dysgraphia, and dyscalculia, delving into theology while my husband attended seminary, reading more books than I would have thought humanly possible - all of that was preparing me for what was to come.
For the last year I've caught myself grappling with regret.
Sometimes I wondered if I shouldn't have stayed home, if I should have tried harder to do freelance writing, if I should have always had part-time job. Even though it is my policy to not visit shoulds and have-to's I found myself rolling those words around in my head. My memory re-worked itself into a place where I if-only's carried me to a now that was more secure, more lovely, more solid.
Alas, there is nothing more solid than the actual life I'm living.
Those lilies don't compare their blooms to last year's, or the neighbors, or a Better Homes and Garden centerfold. They just do the thing they were made to do as best they can with what they're given.
Do you see it, the parable? Do you feel it working in you?
My work, the thing I'm made to do, is unique to me. The work you do is unique to you. The best parts of us are not connected to a salary or a pension or any man-made accolades.
Feed the parts of you that are hungriest and you will build a career. It's a bonus if you happen to get paid for it.
As I settle in to where I am now I am surprised at the body of knowledge I have. What seemed accidental now seems purposeful. What was once painful now makes sense. This place I'm at, where I know more than I used to about so many things - I worked hard to get here. I'll continue working, too. It's not nearly over.
What's really beautiful is that my struggles have shaped my passions.
It's almost as though it's supposed to be that way.
