So, speaking of wanderlust…
For a woman with 6 kids, I have an impressive desire to move to foreign places. Not overseas necessarily – although if my husband woke up tomorrow and said he wanted to move us to Nairobi, I’d probably just start packing. It’s not that I don’t love where I am, it’s just… Well, this itch for change that I can’t quite quantify or fully explain.
I’m sure some psychotherapist could stop me here and decode the meaning of my wanderlust, be it daddy issues or fear of commitment or whatever else. But hey, that would take all the mystery out of it. 😉
I think at least a piece of this wanderlust, this desire to pack up and go (with all my people in tow!) goes back to how we were all wired. Remember the sabbath year in the Bible? The year or jubilee? Cancel all the debts! Rest! Reset! (Google this if you haven’t checked it out – start in Leviticus & Deuteronomy – I so wish we practiced this as a culture in some way other than bankruptcy law! Haha!)
We were designed for resets. And when we don’t get them, the wanderlust arrives.
I do believe that God has placed me in this place and time for a reason, though. With all – or at least 99% of – my heart. And I probably should not pack my bags for Quito or Albuquerque or any place else just yet.
Sometimes the wanderlust eats at me. Or a desire for something more. Something bigger. Something better.
But I know that’s not it.
Sarah Bessey tells a beautiful story about the day Rice Krispies gave her a spiritual awakening. And that is it.
That is the truth of the gospel and that is the story of my life, at least during these days.
Now go read that Sarah Bessey post if you haven’t already.
My wild child turns 3 tomorrow. All of my children’s toddler years have been different and there have been rivals, but this kid – he wins the wild child award to date.
He is that kid. He’s the one that keeps me on my toes and other people whisper about when we are out of earshot.He does things that you could never even think up – go ahead and try!
He causes chaos and dumps cups of water like it is his job. Like maybe he has a sponsorship deal with Dasani.
He prefers to not wear pants. He is curious and caring. He thinks he can move our cars with his bare hands. Truly believes one of these days when he pushes, Eric’s car will roll right out of his way.
He loves his siblings in a mighty way. He is the first to bring his little sister a baby doll and understands Rhett better than you’d expect for his few years on Earth. He says, “mom I hold you?” more often than he says, “stinky butt cheek.”
Yesterday I stood in my kitchen after watching him dump another. cup. of water. and prayed, “Jesus, give me a vision of the other side.”
I know and have lived the platitude of the long days and the short years, but sometimes I just need a little bit more.
He looked up at me and grinned his coy smile and I saw it. Call me crazy. But I saw my vision of the other side. My handsome young man smiling at me – not as a toddler, but as a man.
And I knew the other side is beautiful and Godly, whatever else it is. He might just change the world. He’s already changed mine.
I’m an extrovert. Like extreme. I could be surrounded by people all day long. We joke that I made all these people just because I love people so much – why not birth a bunch of them to live in a house with me?
I absolutely love having friends over. I love opening my home to others. It’s one of my absolute favorite things.
The older I get, though, I’m noticing my stress level messes with my people love. I go all hermit. I hide inside my own head and self reflect way too much. I begin to question friendships for no reason. All the solid security I usually feel starts to melt.
I’ve been hearing this whisper lately.
In this exhausting and lovely and crazy and beautiful season I am in, God is reminding me He’s called me here. To a home with an open door. Open to my family. Open to my friends, my neighbors, others who simply need an open door.