Time is slipping away from me. I’ve had some thoughts tumbling about in my noggin and although they are not about Kenya, this seemed like an appropriate place to capture a couple of them.
There’s just something about an Adirondack chair. I sat in a robins-egg-blue one a few days ago under the shade of a massive oak tree. The gentle, shaded downward slope of the hill where I sat disappeared into a hedge of wildflowers and rose again on the other side covered in orderly rows of vineyards. I breathed deep and felt the peace and rest settle gently on me. And then I remembered.
Years ago I felt the chaos hedging in. My firstborn son was on the tail end of the toddler phase where every little thing required lawyer-worthy negotiation skills. My younger son was in a stage of separation anxiety where he screamed like he’d lost an appendage if I moved out of his line of sight. We were also caring for my husband’s grandfather who had vascular dementia. I felt frazzled pretty much always. As I sat in my MOPS (Mothers of Pre-Schoolers) meeting, I felt it. I had only a few minutes to inhale breakfast before they would call me to pick up the hysterical child from the kids’ room because he was positive I would disappear off the planet if he couldn’t see me. As I walked out to pick him up, I saw a table of merchandise for sale. A simple shirt brought me to tears. It was brown, long-sleeved with a tiny picture and message in light blue print. An Adirondack chair and the words, “Be still”. I felt the tears bunch up in a lump in my throat and sting the back of my eyes. I knew we couldn’t afford it. I walked away quickly and picked up my screaming little guy and then I went right back to that table and bought the shirt.
It’s funny how some things carry such power. It’s just a chair. But it reminds me that when I’m wading through the thick of it, there is Someone greater than me who knows the big-picture plan for my life. He wants to fight for me and my part is to just be still.