The last quarter of the year is by far the busiest, most jammed packed, most fun, and yet most exhausting time of our lives. My husband and I have pretty large families when put all together, and I would say 95% of them all have birthdays and wedding anniversaries from October, all the way to the first week or so in January. Add in all the holidays and regular holiday celebrations with coworkers, friends, school, and family, things get BUSY!
I am always relieved when I run into another mom who is also doing her best to be somewhere in-between drowning in usual household duties and trying to keep up with the motions of the holidays, yet also be in the moment. We are pulled in so many different directions with FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out), that we completely overlook the importance of self-care. By self-care, I mean checking out, so we can check in. Check in with ourselves and the Big Man upstairs while we’re at it.
By this time of year, I am long overdue for some me time. I am blessed beyond measure, but I am also tired. My body, my mind, my soul, my being just needs a recharge. I am about like my phone, I forget to charge it until it runs out of power and I can’t use it for a little bit. My dad knew this about me better than anyone. This is my second Christmas not hearing my dads voice, second set of birthdays, and wedding anniversaries. He wasn’t physically present that often, especially not on the holidays, because he didn’t want to intrude on my moms or my husbands families get-togethers or have to sit at home and wait on us. (Just typing that hurts my stomach.) However, we would always spend time on the phone, talking at odd hours, sharing the most insignificant details of our lives with one another, because we both knew we equally cared to hear it. We could talk about everything or nothing, but it was just nice to soak up each other’s time and hear each other’s voices.
My dad would always call around this time of year and tell me to go to Walmart and pick up a money order with various amounts, sometimes big, sometimes small. Either way, it was a way of him sending his love, providing us an opportunity to do something as a gift from him. This year, it hit me hard. We get by great, but I changed some things around so money would be coming out at different times for different things instead of all at the same time, and my husband did some Christmas shopping with that fact leaving his memory. This left us kind of tight for about a weeks time, but of course it happens on my husbands birthday. He isn’t much on get-togethers, he would rather be alone in the woods hunting artifacts or just spending time with the kids and me.
We are in our room trying to figure out what we want to do, and I am changing a poopy diaper as I think about my dad, and how he would be sending us money right about now, but he isn’t here anymore. I start to silently sob. My sweet toddler, all concerned, asks, “Wuuts, woong?” and my husband hugs me and just looks at me like he knows what I am thinking.
The following morning, I am making my husband his favorite childhood breakfast food for the first time ever. I had never tried them, much less made them, but I bought a special pan for my husbands birthday, and I was a day late making the actual treat. I am in the middle of doing my first batch of aebleskivers, basically a danish pancake in the form of a ball. It isn’t going so well at first, but I don’t back down from a challenge without first giving it all I’ve got. Now onto the second batch, things are starting to make sense.
My husband comes back from taking out the trash and checking the mail and lets me know I have something and it “looks official.” Sure enough, it was a check from the United States Treasury Department. It was roughly $70, as a death benefit, being I was the child of a deceased parent. I can’t help but start sobbing again. As my husband holds me, I tell him I literally just thought yesterday, how dad would have been sending us money usually, but he wasn’t here anymore, and now this check appears? My husband told me that he had the exact same thought. Probably at the same time, just by the way he looked at me and held me the day before, when I didn’t mention a word. That $70 got us some bubbly champagne and some tacos. We ate food that my dad loved to eat and I had a drink in celebration of my husband and my dad; my first love and my forever love.
I can say this much, God knows our hearts, our every thought, our every fear, regret, pain, joy, love, and hope. I didn’t speak a word of my thought the day before, but I had previously been praying. I had prayed that if God DID let us pass messages back and forth to passed loved ones, then to please let my dad know that I missed him so much along with some other things. I kid you not, I can see my dad, skillful and cunning as he was, getting close with the Big Guy and saying, “Hey, won’t you send this to my Lou Lou, You and I both know she could use it right about now.” and I can see God smile, shake His head, and agree that I did, indeed, need that little love nudge.
This was just another beautiful way God has shown up and shown out for me in my life, literally providing my every need, from the last penny, to the last second. He has never failed me. If you’re ready to check out, you’re exhausted, you’re weary, drowning in busy-ness or loneliness, I pray you check out so you can check in with The One who cares the most about you. Check in with your spouse, your besties, your kids, but most of all check in with Him. He wants to show you His love for you, but your eyes have to be open to receive it and see it for what it is.
I pray you’re blessed, whoever is reading this, that your blessed with the things your heart hopes for, and that you have an amazing ending to this year. I pray you utilize this time to reflect, to be completely honest with yourself, and I then challenge you to take that next step forward towards a better tomorrow. You may feel like your drowning, but “just keep swimming” (said in Dory’s voice), and know hope is just around the corner. You just have to refocus to see it.
The Farmer Mom 