Today I took a long, soul-satisfying walk beside the lake. Spring was underfoot and in the trees; it budded, chirped, and blew all around. I strode happily, though the hills were high and the heart in my chest beat steadily. Time alone in God's creation is rare for me. If you have little ones with you all day each day you understand. But here was my moment and I walked until my muscles quaked from exhaustion... and then turned back and headed home. Celtic Music wafted from the cell phone in my pocket, keeping a happy rhythm for my feet to jig along home to.
When clouds gathered to block the sun I untied the sweatshirt at my waist and put it on. Mist came upon thick in a Springtime moment, then cleared away again. On and off my sweatshirt went.
Around the last bend I came to a meadow of wild lupine, cobalt and striking, and stopped to pick myself a nosegay. Instantly I knew the vase I'd use for the evening dinner table.
As I continued up the final hill to our home, with the music, and the flowers, and the vista, it began to rain. Not a rain that soaks you through or makes one melancholy, but a happy sort of rain with just the right number of droplets to increase joy.
As I cleared the final hilltop and saw my home I thought how much like a character from a Jane Austin book I must appear, and a soul-springing-up smile spread across my face. My husband stood on the porch talking with a neighbor, and I waved.
It was a wonderful walk. I came home nourished from the inside, ready to love my beloveds fresh again.
Bethany is a treasured friend of mine that I met after becoming a mother - more specifically a mother of three. Bethany never knew me well-kept and unhurried, only in this uniquely exhausting season of life. During one of our first conversations, Bethany mentioned poetry. "Oh," I sighed, "I love poetry!" She lit up and retorted, "Who are a few of your favorite poets?"
I stood there dumb. Silent. Empty headed. Not a poet nor poem came to mind. It had been so many years since I nourished my mind and imagination with rich poetry. How long had it been? But when does a busy woman have the time for poetry anymore? I confessed to my newfound friend that it had been years since I'd enjoyed any beautiful prose or rhyming couplets.
A week later I received a package in the post, it contained two beautiful compilations of poetry.
Bethany is a gift giver, I know that now. But the gift she gave me that changed me the most was not the actual gift of poems, but the awareness that my unique soul needs to be nourished and fed, invested in, and prioritized. For me it's not in trips to the salon or a new pair of shoes, the key to satisfying my particular soul is found in deep conversations, God's glorious creation, hymns and violins, open windows on beautiful days, and, as you now know, poetry and long walks.
Now I'm asking you, what builds you up from the soul, nourishing the you that's been laid aside to minister to your family?
Without leading you into depression at the thought, how might you infuse your home-making, life laying-down service to your family by reconnecting with those little things that feed your soul and bring life to your being? Jot them down, make a plan, share it with your husband, your mother, your friends.... I don't know if it takes a village to raise a child, but I whole-heartedly believe it takes a village to raise up a mother.
Confess to your dear confidants what's been lost and ask them to help you reclaim those dormant parts of your soul-satisfied self.
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