Last year my husband and I attended a marriage seminar with Paul Tripp, during which he showed a trailer to one of his new books on mid-life crisis. I am only 33. My husband is 27. As we watched, I oddly related…and chuckled inside. At the end, I whispered in the ear of my youthful man, “I think I just went through my mid-life crisis!” To which he laughed his jolly old laugh (and if you know him, you’d attest that it really is jolly:) saying, “I was thinking of you!”
The hubs is working today, so I’m alone with the kids. Being Saturday, we’re used to doing something special as a family…even if it’s just projects around the house; we love our weekends together. So, not wanting to be depressed by his absence, I loaded the kids into the van, drove by Jamba Juice for smoothies, and ended at the park…which was empty. Sometimes Saturday’s are empty.
And as the kids played on the slides, and attempted the monkey bars, and swung as high as the sky, my mind drifted to their world…a time before the awareness of life’s challenges. A time when my heart wasn’t heavy with fear or doubt. A time of childhood innocence. And I wished to capture that feeling of life appearing as a blank canvas, waiting for strokes of color from the paintbrush held by my hand.
After the park, I went the long route home, and prayed over this quaint town…really a town I dreamed to live in…a town not too far from where I spent most of my childhood. The cedars and pines filling the hills on the horizon; the brick and mortar of the old mixed with the new. The shadows cast by the coming autumnal sun, and the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves: it all swept me away to a harsher time in life…a time when I took long runs along the canal, when tears would flow down my flushed face, my heart wrenched open before a mysterious God: Crushed dreams with no possibility of retrieval…my first husband gone: no hope of seeing him again until the end of this life, the beginning of a new life in heaven.
The kids lay in their beds now, supposed to be napping, but I hear my son singing,“1-2-3 Jesus loves me. 1-2 Jesus loves you.” And the smell of the cooking roast overwhelms my senses. I sit typing: A present day memoir.
And at this moment I remember how I started this post…my mid-life crisis. I still chuckle at the thought! What will that be like for me:) This much too deep thinker…much too deep feeler. And then I remember, the Jesus who loves me. The One who has carried me through every crisis, through every good moment, through every grand moment, and I am at peace. Because life is still waiting to be painted. There’s a lot left to be done; God isn’t finished! And He won’t be until l I take that last breath.
And this young 33-year-old woman, who sometimes feels 70 and other times feels 15, is filled once again with dreams that are vibrant, colorful, textured, and all beautiful.
Oh, only for the glory of Him! Because I don’t want it if it isn’t!!
On this present day, in the silence of my heart, I remember a promise of Scripture, “Call to Me, and I will answer you, and show you great and Mighty things, which you do not know,” (Jeremiah 33:3).
I am expectant. Hopeful. Believing.