Wrangler Dani

There’s a whoosh and a whistle in the air today, pushing out the warmth of last few days and bringing whispers of coming snow. There’s a dark wall of clouds hovering near like a conquering army, looking down at us as they ready themselves for a swift invasion.

This year I find myself taking deep breaths, like the clouds who are going to start snowing on us in a couple of hours but aren’t quite ready just yet. Adelay is thrilled by Christmas this year, wants to drink in everything with her usual exuberance. Isaiah is impossible to buy for and dazzled by the simplest things. We like to joke that he is our model baby Jesus, and since he seems mostly impressed by the smiles of those who love him, there’s probably a lot of truth there.

I find myself longing for a moment to myself and then missing my children the moment they aren’t with me, like a crazy person. I want to go shopping but I also want to purge my house of junk. I want to love people and also drink a cup of coffee by myself. This two kids thing feels like it might be overwhelming me sometimes, like the coming snowstorm, but then I recall that snowstorms are usually only beautiful and rarely scary. I just have to scrape my windshield and remember to wear thick socks, those are do-able things. Sometimes it’s necessary to give myself grace, to remember that I don’t have to be good at everything, that parenthood is a refining fire.

I find that people talk about parenthood in two ways – there are the grandparent types who have (perhaps willfully) lost recollection of late nights and toddler spills and tantrums, and smile beatifically at me with misty eyes. “Treasure these angels,” they say and pat me on the arm with kindness. Then there are the frustrated moms who are, by their telling of it, raising tiny demon-possessed mess-makers who do nothing but disobey and vomit in the car and wipe their noses on the tablecloth.

Neither of these is true.

I know this but I have to remind myself of it. Love is messy and so are children, even the forgetful grandparents know that. God’s love is perfect but our human variety is not, and we are often forgetful or judgmental or overly simplified. We yearn for snow and then spring and then snow again. We want love but offer harshness to others, we need hope but don’t know how to find it.

As I write this I see the wall of clouds advancing, making their move. My longing cannot make them move faster or slower, they will come and they will do whatever they are supposed to do, regardless of how I feel about it.

So today I am embracing snowstorms and taking a breath. Christmas sometimes feels like a sprint, and while I love all the hustle-bustle, there is wisdom is letting storms come and go, watching the trees sway from the window, treasuring the perfection of God’s artwork, the frost on the trees and the crunch of frozen gravel under my feet.