“I am writing these things to you about those who are trying to lead you astray.”
1 John 2:26
John wrote to direct, train, encourage, and challenge believers experiencing division. Our lives will both by led by and lead to something. John’s message is a high calling for righteous living – to live a life led by God, that leads others to God, and that does not lead oneself or others astray.
Indulge me a few minutes this post to appreciate my hubby. This year we’ll celebrate 12 years, and it does keep getting better and better. In ways I never would have imagined, though.
Take communication. He often makes such an impact with a simple, gentle inquiry, or by saying nothing at all. Recently, he innocently asked, “did you know that the blade in your razor is disposable? Because it doesn’t look like it has been changed….like ever….”
Why, yes, intellectually, I knew that. But it was one of those items that I grasp intellectually, and then stop, not converting that knowledge to action. My morning routine has just enough time for the essentials, the razor doesn’t make the short list. I woke up last weekend to see a new razor greeting me in the shower. No snarky references to sandpaper. No bewildered undulations of “woman, you are hairy.”
Just a new razor. An unassuming, tangible proof that he thought of me and literally, wanted my life to be a little bit smoother.
At Christmas, he procured a quirky, small, specialty order book on writing. You know the kind that makes the eccentric small bookstore owner scratch his head, determined to meet his customer’s need.
And most recently, he quietly appeared before me, two ibuprofen in hand, because he overheard me admit to myself, quite dejectedly, that I had a headache. (Both kids were in bed, this was not a time for a headache!)
This is the stuff of helpmates: ever present despite the good and bad, with tangible action that here is love, support, and the occasional razor.
I was at a new crossroads. I had worked on a piece of writing for about 8 weeks from the idea to the editing. It is a mere 500 words, but anyone who writes knows that what even 500 words can do to a brain. I mapped it out, planned, and marinated on it from the end of January, through all of February, and into March. I passed the first week, then the second, and decided, “lets do this.” I polished.
I went back to the website to find that in the last couple of weeks, the editorial calendar had been filled, the open submission session closed, but I could try back in June. Bummer. I really didn’t know what emotion to expect next. My, how anti-climatic. Surprisingly, I was actually pretty cool about it – after I took inventory of how I had spent my time the last few weeks. What was I doing with myself if I was not double checking whether the submission timeline had changed?
A couple of fun trips to the library, a memorable mother daughter trip to the ballet, and celebrating our son’s first birthday. Details, major and minor, had gone into planning and enjoying those moments. I was at peace with knowing while writing deserves priority, parenting gets precedence.
Yes, I missed my writing deadline. There will be more. There are only so many deadlines that can be realistically met. I quietly sighed in relief that I hadn’t missed a parenting deadline.
This Fall’s football season is different than any other for our household. Not because there is anything different with football per se, but this time, I have a thing too. Something that I think about ALOT and daydream about doing when I am not actually engaged. Writing. The blissful conglomeration of words in purposeful succession to make sense of the ramblings in my brain. Sweet Jesus! Momma’s got a hobby.
Blogging. Sweet Blogging.
Its not that I couldn’t have a hobby all these years. My hubs, who has always been good at having hobbies, has always encouraged it. Truth be told, I think I was a bit too TyPe A-ish. Hobbies were for other people, not me, I was too busy. So that made me busy, tired, and kind of boring. If I sat still too long, I’d fall asleep. Actually for several years, I considered sleeping a hobby. But then having children kind of beat that out of me. Sleep is not a hobby, it is merely a passage of time where you are not physically taking care of someone, and sometimes you awake refreshed, other times not so much.
A wise woman once told me the more kids you have, the more you should carve out time to improve yourself. You’re asked to stretch every waking minute to meet the needs of others, one can not fail to emotionally, intellectually, and physically feed the mind, soul, brain – stomach! Parenting is a privilege, blessing, treasure, and sometimes solicitation to the loony bin. With all the incredibleness of it, motherhood is not a hobby. I love my little beings. I love writing. I am a better person when allowed to express love for both.
And I think I am a more interesting and respectful wife. Because now, this Fall, we both have things that excite, entertain, motivate us. Sure, I believe that with marriage, two become one, but when both have hobbies, we are a more interesting amalgamation. Communication and intimacy of the family unit are not available for compromise, but everybody deserves a time doing what they love. Everybody’s hobby doesn’t require everybody’s attention, but it does deserve respect. My hubs subscribes to my blogs, but doesn’t always read them, I know where his football books are, but I don’t open them, nor shall my eyes ever traverse his copious notes outlining game strategy. We know the important basic – we both need our respective time to do our thing.
Currently, the baby is hollering and drooling, (what he loves), the pre-Ker is building a fort with couch cushions, and the hubs is about to review football film for an upcoming game. All is as it should be.