I needed to get outside of my life to see it clearly. And what I saw astonished me. I had space to think uninterrupted thoughts, to mull over problems and issues that were lying in a neglected, dusty corner of my psyche.
I had time to listen to the words, strung like forgotten clothing across the laundry line of my heart. I gathered in my words and in the gathering–I acknowledged them.
I felt a spreading sense of relief, like cool water poured over parched, barren soil.
I have been very exhausted.
This is not a complaint. It's just fact. Ever since the twins were born, I've been living in a state of emergency–always on high alert. I have bled out every last resource–sacrificing myself for their well-being.
And I would not have it any other way. It's just that in all the giving, all the bleeding, all the managing of five human beings I have grown very, very weary.
When I tucked myself into the cool, solitary sheets of my niece's twin bed, I felt nothing but utter relief. I have not slept alone in almost twelve years. Even when Matt is gone on business trips, the children crowd in around me.
Every moment of the past two years have been fraught with need–others' needs. Someone always needs me. Someone is hungry, someone is thirsty, someone needs to be changed, someone needs to be held, someone needs help with homework.
I have reveled in this. I love being a mother to many children.
But as I lay alone in a twin bed, I also acknowledged that I am needy, too. I need rest.
This weekend I have rested. I have laughed, talked, shopped, ate and shared with my sister. No-one needed me. My mind went on a mental vacation.
Now, I am refreshed.
I long for my children. I am ready for their neediness. I am ready for my own, sweet, busy, crazy life again.
It's good for the soul to wander.
And it's good for the soul to go home.
