The Fickle Heart

The world in which my heart lives is such a fickle place. 

As I sit here in my work vehicle watching and waiting for my son’s soccer practice to be over, I know that if I really want to be truthful, I would love to already be at home getting ready to eat dinner.  Here I sit though because this is important to my little man, and he enjoys the game and being around other kids.  I find it silly that as they practice they have to be wearing masks.  They are outside and there are a total of maybe 10 kids plus the coach on this really big field that I will reiterate is outside.  The rules state though that masks must be worn and so the kids do. 

The year of the virus has been a tough one, I miss the hugs and the lunch dates, but I have enjoyed the kids home more and the fact that I can take them to work with me.  I love the differences we have as people, I love that some of us are good at sports and others love to quilt.  I love the hotheads and the ones that are so calm it’s strange.  I love that we have different opinions and that we all tend to live our lives in our own ways.  I love that even as I step into my own home I will hear a different language being spoken (my eldest daughter is learning German).  I love seeing that my cousin in California is a chef/personal trainer/woodworker.  I love all of this because it is what makes us all unique.  I would not want to be like someone else.

I am reading this book about a gal who writes a blog, she talks about deep down joy, but doesn’t necessarily always feel it.  I relate with her, now more than ever only because things are so mixed up in life right now.  I won’t say it’s bad, but there are days when I don’t really know who I am other than a mom, wife, vet tech, Christian, but deep down I am a bit lost, and then I go on a walk with my dogs and I start to see that I am me.  I love the new wonder of the dogs seeing a horse for the first time, or when as I am walking a motorcycle drives by and I get the urge to fly.  I love the sense of accomplishment when I finish a project, blog post or craft and I know deep in my bones that I got something from it, and that is all that matters. 

I sat in church on Easter Sunday having the hardest time not crying.  The songs that were being sung just hit right at the core of who I am.  They also showed my what I had let go, and made me think of ways that I could get back what I have lost.  I realized as I sniffled and blinked back tears, trying hard to just keep singing, that I am not the center of my universe.  I am not my own creation, at some point God thought of me and said I really want her to live, and I want her to know me, and so He made it happen.  The mystery gets lost to me sometimes when I am in the hustle and bustle of life and I am worrying about this or that.  I forget that all it takes is a whisper to reconnect me. 

My son’s practice is about to end, which means I will get to go home and enjoy the craziness of the household.  I know all too soon I will look back on these days and think of how simple they were.  We will have other crisis’s to live through and new worries to add to our thoughts, and in all of it, will I remember that I am a somebody or will my fickle heart let me think I am just what my titles are and nothing more?  I am hoping I will grow and move and enjoy the journey I am on, and realize that I am so much more than what I think I am.  Until next time:

You are under no obligation to be the person you were a year, a month, or even 15 minutes ago. You have the right to grow. No apologies

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