We don’t always know why we go through hard things. Painful things. Depressing things. Heartbreaking things. Sometimes, there is a “reason” at the end, and we understand. Sometime there isn’t, and we are left wondering why. Why did this happen? But more importantly, why did God let this happen?
Texas was home for my first eighteen years until 1997 when I moved up north to first Montana then Washington. I now have four children and due to the cost of plane tickets, I am only able to go visit every two to three years. In fact, until this past December, I hadn’t been home for Christmas since before I left in 1996.
I don’t want to complain tonight, but can I be real? I’m tired. I will be 41 in nine days. I have been at this motherhood thing for twenty-two years, and I still have eleven to go until my youngest is 18. That’s thirty-three years, y’all. Thirty-three years of cleaning up after little people, breaking up arguments, fixing broken toys, birthday parties, tantrums (oh yes, I am still dealing with that…)
Today I took my kids to a McDonald’s Playplace, and immediately the scene had me feeling all sorts of ways. First, the music that was playing was from the 90s, making me reminisce on my senior year of high school and wondering how in the WORLD am I going to be 41 in a couple of weeks?