But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has?
After Finn was born, I felt deflated (literally and figuratively). It has been mostly a blur since he arrived, leaving me a little bit heartbroken every time I have to swap out bigger clothes for him. Not to mention he’s a chunky boy, so he’s flying through baby sizes like they’re nothing. I wanted, and still want, to nestle in the moments where I realize how fast this is going. I often look back, wishing time were a friendlier companion. But I don’t think it has to be the enemy, either.
I realized that in this place of being no longer pregnant, taking care of my boys, and working in the home, I was not resting in anticipation. I was tense with uncertainty. I was clenching my hands, gasping for breath, and trying desperately to take it all in before it disappeared. I can see it now, my eyes fleeting from side to side, hands outstretched trying to help everybody at once, hair in a frazzled mess. Some days, that is just how it goes. But everyday? That can’t be everyday.
I rest in hope and anticipation.
For what? For the day that I get to start sending my boys to school and out into the world? For the moment that I don’t have to carry a diaper bag anymore? For the day that I can go on a vacation with just my husband?
What does it mean to be hopeful? What am I allowed to be hopeful for?
I don’t think I have to give up much to be a mom. There are some things that do disappear or change, but I wouldn’t consider them sacrifices. I think it’s okay to be hopeful for the day when our children are more independent. I think it’s okay to anticipate the day when our eyes are no longer watching a million things at once and our hair is actually done. But I don’t want that to be my hope. No, I don’t want those fleeting things and ideals of this world to be my anticipation.
I want to rest in the hope and the anticipation of Jesus and His coming. If that’s my prize, if my eyes are fixed on the Son, my hands unclench. I don’t fear the clock as it ticks ever so quickly, and my babies become men. If my anticipation is for the King, I can shed the expectations I have for myself and motherhood, and I can see His vision more clearly. Part of who Janelle is includes being a mom. But the other facets of me are just as crucial. The dreamer in me. The writer in me. The woman in me.
Rest, Mama. Your day is not a fleeting breath, and the world will not cave if you can’t control it. Rest in the hope and the anticipation of the Lord’s coming. He is coming.
Anticipate that. Not just the moment of freedom you’re longing for with your Starbucks in hand. Be hopeful in the freedom you already have.