letting go

Well, hello there! Long time, no chat. I have been MIA for five weeks, f-i-v-e weeks...and the truth is, I've really missed hanging out here. But more importantly, my soul has missed being here. As in, here, the now, in thanksgiving. Too often as of late, I've been wrestling my will away from His will - caught up in my own ambitions {wanting to prove to myself that I deserve the title at my new job}, goals {getting my life, house and finances in order} and schedules {between daycare, dadcare, momcare, schoolcare and soccercare}. Excuses are plenty, but the reality remains - I've drifted away from my anchor. But now that I've reached the end of my rope, He's tugging me back. I'm too exhausted to swim anymore. I grab hold of His lifeline and make the journey back, hand over hand, deliberately moving towards safety.

I remember boating with my dad at my cousin's lake. We had a seahawk inflatable that we would tow behind the boat. At the ripe age of 13, I remember sprawling my bony knees over each of the seahawk's puffed up wings, and white-knuckle grip the handles tight. I remember the sound of the waves lapping against the boat's fibreglass as dad would look over his shoulder and call out if I was ready. All I could do was nod, and then he put the boat in gear. The seahawk's nose would point stubbornly up at the sky as the boat's speed picked up and I would crest above the waves. Now safe in the wake of the boat, I glided giddily atop the white-freckled water. Dad always joked that I was too light to dump in the water. Turn after turn, I goaded Dad on as I became more prideful in my "technique" of riding the seahawk. But an adolescent's arrogance is no match for a father who understands physics. 

We called it cracking the whip. And I always saw it coming.

Dad would head into a wide turn with the boat, then double back the other way so the waves from the two wakes would create a torrent of rapids. Then he would slow down, just enough to put slack in the rope, then punch it. I could literally hear the rope snap to attention, almost in slow motion, as the slack whistled heavy and pulled hard. It was in this moment, as I watched the inevitable lesson in whiplash come my way, that I had to decide...stay on or let go.

My ego inevitably convinced the rational side of me that this time I could hold on and make it through the whip and waves. And again and again, my ego abandoned the seahawk mid-flight as the handles were torn right out from my grip, and my face would slap hard into the water and I'd drink at least a week's supply of water before rising to the surface of the lake.

(not me, but you get the idea)

I would always look for dad, and he'd come circling around in our blue and white boat, with a big grin on his face - always asking the same question: had enough? I'd sheepishly pull myself up over the side of the boat and claim my towel as I sat shivering on the cracked blue plastic seats.

My father knew what only experience could teach me - my limits. And again, my Godly father is offering the same lesson - know my limits - and  know that God will always be there to rescue me (and like my father, I'm sure, marvel at the air I achieved on the last wipeout...)

Today, my limits aren't as obvious as slack in a rope, but I can still feel the anxiety when I'm faced with the decision to white-knuckle it, or get back in the boat.

Today, I want to get back in the boat with my Father. Then I know we'll both be smiling- and on the right side of the water...

In continuation with celebrating the gifts God has placed in my life;

1212. singing both my children to sleep, and watching as their eyes flutter to sleep. Marvelling at how perfectly God matched us up. I am so blessed.
1213. Watching my daughter play on her very first soccer team. And watching her big brother celebrating the goals and being the other "coach".
1214. Quiet time to read with my husband, outside in the sun under the pergola.
1215. Dinner with family.
1216. Movie night out with just our little family.
1217. Real conversations.
1218. Great memories of my daddy.
1219. A job that God led me to, and me being smart enough to follow (at least this time!)
1220. Growing our very first garden.
1221. Seeing the miracle of seeds pushing mass amount of soil away, reaching for the light...
1222. Plans to go camping this summer (and great friends who are loaning us their tent trailer, so very grateful!)
1223. Hearing the kids' laughter outside as they have summer-infused playtime.
1224. Having a great friend at work.
1225. Clean bed sheets.
1226. Season's first corn on the cob.
1227. Hard belly laughs that cause me to cry.
1228. Dreaming of world travel with my husband.
1229. Reminders that God is here.
1230. Learning lessons.
1231. Son who sings me songs.
1232. Daughter who makes me drawings at daycare.
1233. A daycare that I feel comfortable with and that my kids enjoy (quite a feat, if you ask me!)
1234. Grass under my toes.
1235. The scent of lilacs.
1236. My mama who takes my daughter to dance class every week.
1237. Raspberry bushes from grandparent's back yard.
1238. Daughter who snuggles close as she sleeps.

Care to join me in giving thanks?