Seasons of transitions

a note for all of the parents experiencing change + your link to watch the SUMMER SOBER replay

Now in my forties, I’m feeling the gravity of age. In more ways than one.

As if the more rotations around the sun I go, the more sober summers I cycle through, the closer the Earth brings me in (while at the same time Heaven winks).

Waiting.

Can you relate?

I look in the mirror: Who is this woman staring back at me? The one who has tiny creases around her eyes like crumpled bed sheets. The one who wakes up sore without having done much the day before.

I look at my kids: Who are these angels that keep growing like vegetables in the garden? Long legs like stems.

I look towards my own mother: Who is this woman slowing, with blue eyes like tiny oceans fading? The same, but changing; the same, but changed.

It is a beautiful thing to give birth. To be birthed. To mother and be mothered. It is the greatest joy of my recovery to be there for the two human beings who were the best surprise(s). My constant reminders of my why in recovery.

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The moment – or better – moments I gave birth (I am a twin mom), there was a bloody sigh. Though heavily medicated, I felt it like a wave of energy released. It was so palpable my heart responded by blood pressure dropping near fatally. My babies had become such a part of my own flesh that without them, my heart wanted to leap from my chest to continue holding them up.

When my husband brought them around the curtain and rested them, each on one side of my face, their tiny cheeks against mine, the wave came again. We were complete. They were back.

The best moment.

Now, when I have to leave for a speaking gig or just when they leave for the day, a part of my body feels the separation.

My husband thinks that maybe it’s some kind of “separation anxiety.” Something to do with the fact that my own mother left me when I was nearly three years old, that somehow my genes remember, my blood and bones remember what it feels like to be left.

He might be right.

It may also be that when you are a mother, when you create life in your womb when God in great mercy stitches life together inside of you, a part of you becomes that life-giver, too. A part of you becomes not only created but creator.

Made in God’s image.

And when you are re-made in God’s image, there is a part of you that is only complete when your created is tethered to your breast. When what you love is within reach. When the garden of life that God planted in your womb is blooming beside you.

And yet, they must go.

They are made to become the life-giver, too.

The next in line.

The possibility, waiting. The future.

And we, mothers, fathers, caregivers, are called to release, extend, slow, fade, making room for the next blossom that will become the fruit.

My angels, now preschool graduates!

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Perhaps your story is a bit different than mine in that your children are struggling. Maybe they’ve left and you are searching, seeking, pleading. Perhaps you’ve experienced the unimaginable: the loss of a child. Maybe your season transition is moving from one day of grief to the next.

I see you, too. And my heart goes out to you.

What are you letting go of in this season?

What changes await?

Where is your ache?

COMMENT below to share.

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And - I had to share this link just in case you missed the SUMMER SOBER Live event.

Watch the replay here.