a season not wasted

I'm starting to feel like I'm the only parent that cannot accept the season I'm in the midst of. My girls are all at very different stages of development (15, 11, 7 years) and by and large most days I want to turn the clock back. I want to wake up, put my robe on, pull all three of them from their beds, tuck them in around me in my bed, and turn the clock back. I don't want any of this.

Why is this so terrifically hard? I feel as if the world is forcing me to run full speed ahead into their growing up without my permission. But at every effort of mine to resolve that they are not wee ones anymore, there are attempts to sabotage my acceptance of their development all around me: my iPhone has somehow developed a daily visual reminder of the past in the way of photo memories. It's agonizing. Social media insists on sharing with me daily anniversaries of things I've posted in the past. It's brutal. I scroll past with lightning speed because if and when I do take a moment to gaze at photos from when the girls were tiny, I am overcome with a mix of grief and regret.

What is wrong with me? I was promised that this would be a season of delight - I had visions of shopping together, coffee dates, movies, long walks, and the long-awaited-by-me Target Run Together. Those dreams have turned to nightmares though: shopping is a once or twice a year chore to endure with much weeping and gnashing of teeth. Coffee dates seem to be more about treats for the younger two, and my oldest would actually prefer to go for coffee with a friend, despite my heart bleeding all over the place when I say yes to that request. Movies are too expensive, long walks are impossible to fit into their schedules, and the Target Run...well... that's the most painful. The stuff I love to do in Target is generally meaningless, but when they were babies -- I did it with them. While they babbled to me in the shopping buggy, I talked back to them and spent time with them. All of it - the meandering, plucking things off shelves I didn't come for, sipping a hot drink to stay warm in the frigid Target air, laughing uncontrollably at greeting cards, and believing that I can re-do a room because I saw a pretty throw pillow - all of this was done with their little voices in the background asking a million questions. I got to look in their eyes and see them. We didn't have homework, deadlines, ballet, track, friend drama, cell phones, or music preferences. We had each other. Right?

Isn't that what I miss - we had each other? Or...do I miss something else? I had them. I had them to myself. My schedule. My conversations. My preferences. My...control.

Oh man. I did not see this coming when I sat down to write this. Is my unwillingness to accept where they are in this season more about an idol of my heart than about grieving their growing up?

A verse came to mind as I began processing this: Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you your heart's desires. (Ps 37:4) It does not say, "Take delight in your children, and they will give your life meaning." Maybe I don't need to take time to grieve the change of season with my daughters so much as I need to grieve and repent of my sin of asking my children to do that which only God can do: give me the desires of my heart. If our hearts are rightly oriented, those desires are ultimately more of God Himself. My girls can't give me God. They can't fill my need for meaning and worth, and it's unfair of me to yoke them to that burden. When Jesus calls the weary to himself, he calls them to rest in the midst of the labor, and true rest for our souls comes when we take his yoke upon us (Matt 11:28-30). I've had this flipped upside down - I've expected rest from putting the burden of my identity upon my children. Instead of running to Christ in my weariness, I've taken this verse to mean: "Come home to a clean house, obedient children, and no extracurricular activities, and you will find rest."

No wonder we've (I've?) struggled to live with joy these past many months. Joy is a fruit that is born from a life rooted in and nourished by the Spirit of God. The fruit of the Spirit is ... joy... (Gal 5:22). It does not say, "the fruit of a happy home is joy," or "the fruit of perfect parenting is joy," or "the fruit of control," or "the fruit of your accomplishments," or on and on. No. We will only experience unflappable joy when we walk by the Spirit: Walk by the Spirit, and you will certainly not carry out the desire of the flesh. Now the works of the flesh are...idolatry...jealousy...selfish ambition... (Gal 5:16, 20). The desires of the flesh are rooted in self-adoration, self-protection, and self-exaltation. They stand in stark contrast to the desires of the heart that is indwelt by the Holy Spirit. The Spirit fuels our hearts to long for more grace from the Father as we walk in step with the Son. And the result of this all-consuming love is a joy that is not dependent on circumstances, or seasons, or even the realization that they grow up and might not want to stand in the Target laundry aisle and smell the detergents with me like they used to.

It may just be that God knew they would grow up and grow independent and all I need to do is trust Him for what comes next in every season. I'm taken back to Psalm 37: A person's steps are established by the Lord, and he takes pleasure in his [God's] way. Though he falls, he will not be overwhelmed, because the Lord supports him with his hand. (v. 23-24). God's way is that children do grow up. They gain independence by taking baby steps out of the nest. In the same way that the Lord promises to support me with His hand when I trust Him to establish my steps, I have to do the same for my girls. The best I can do for them is to continually adjust my gaze and direct my heart to delight in the One I know is the source of all joy. Every season is a season not wasted if it is entrusted to the Lord; may it be so.