The clock in our dining room is having some battery problems, and as a result, it keeps lagging behind. Gabe has re-set it (and attempted to revive it with new batteries) two or three times now, and each time, initially, it seems to be doing fine. Then it relapses into slo-mo timekeeping.
It's a little irritating. I am one of those people that checks the clock habitually, and without having an accurate timepiece on hand, I feel discombobulated. But a part of me is wishing that I could lapse into slo-mo time, too, and stretch out the minutes just a little longer.
As any of you who have ever undertaken a life-shift in some way can probably relate, I feel like Gabe and I are living in this odd twilight zone of neither completely here nor there. We're here in body and duty, but "the future" is definitely not here. The calendar hanging on our wall has appointments and notes all the way up until April 23rd, and after that it's just blank. We're excited to discover what's on the other side of that date, but we also feel the weighty significance of what will transpire between now and our departure date.
This photo is of the street we live on in the springtime. I took it last March as the plum trees burst into bloom. I love the annual week of plum-blossoms. It's a week I didn't fully appreciate until Gabe and I got married and we lived here on Larch. We'll probably catch plum-blossom week this year, but I don't know when the next time will be that we might see it. That unknown seems to be looming over a lot of things right now.
It's worth it to entrust those little pleasures and treasures of life - coffee dates with friends, drives and stories with Grandma, laughter from our one-year-old nephew, peaceful evening walks around this neighborhood where we've made our first home together - into the faithful hands of a God who so kindly gave us those treasures to begin with, since we can't cling to them AND go do what we believe we're called to do, but it is a little painfully sad to release them.
I don't wish to change things. I am delighted to get to walk into this approaching next season. I just wish that reality could conform to the clock on our wall for maybe just a little bit.
This photo is of the street we live on in the springtime. I took it last March as the plum trees burst into bloom. I love the annual week of plum-blossoms. It's a week I didn't fully appreciate until Gabe and I got married and we lived here on Larch. We'll probably catch plum-blossom week this year, but I don't know when the next time will be that we might see it. That unknown seems to be looming over a lot of things right now.
It's worth it to entrust those little pleasures and treasures of life - coffee dates with friends, drives and stories with Grandma, laughter from our one-year-old nephew, peaceful evening walks around this neighborhood where we've made our first home together - into the faithful hands of a God who so kindly gave us those treasures to begin with, since we can't cling to them AND go do what we believe we're called to do, but it is a little painfully sad to release them.
I don't wish to change things. I am delighted to get to walk into this approaching next season. I just wish that reality could conform to the clock on our wall for maybe just a little bit.