Standing In a Rainstorm

In less than a week, I’ll celebrate my 49th birthday. I know this entering of the last year in my 5th decade of life is precious. Yet, I found myself recently feeling so entrenched in midlife insanity that I stood in the middle of my home that I desperately want to paint, longing to renovate the still too tiny kitchen, looking out at the too-big and untended yard and the acres of land that keep me far from town and needing to drive everywhere I go, wondering when my daughter will have her license so I can stop being a full time Uber service, grumbling about the two teens who were refusing my support in our home school day and realizing how much planning and prep work for both youth group and yoga training I had to accomplish, thinking Aren’t I too old for this crazyness? I found myself wishing to not live so far out of town, so far from the ocean, with so much land to care for; wishing for time for my own thoughts and grown up teens who maybe appreciate me a bit. I found myself wishing for, longing for, the future with its someday promises. Suddenly, in that overwhelmed moment, I remembered a story I heard a year or more ago.