Spring Glory

This is a creative non-fiction piece that I wrote for my newsletter a couple of months ago. It was May of 2020 when this happened, while the world was locked down and on fire.

I sit on the stool in the bathroom longer than I need to.  It’s only quiet I can find today, though I still hear the chatter of the children outside of the door and my to-do list still runs through my head.

 

Water the plants
Tidy the living room
Start dinner
Bake the bread
Take a wall

The list is always there, like an old friend.  When it comes to kids, the to-do’s never end.  

A few years ago I started adding Take a walk to my daily list.  I feel better when I get myself out of the door and down our hill for a few minutes but I can almost always find dishes or laundry that needs done instead.

But you know how lists work: If it’s on my list, I have to do it.  

Sometimes I take the kids.  Sometimes I go by myself while they are occupied by the TV.  

The hill that I walk down is pasture land, surrounded by a tree line that also marks the edge of our property.  As you reach the bottom of the hill, it opens up into a forested meadow.  

Down there the noise of the road and the world disappear, and I can spend a few minutes removed from the bustle and demands of the day.

In the bathroom I sigh, wishing I could get away for a walk by myself.  My patience is waning, but I already missed my window to leave the kids during their afternoon quiet time.

The day creeps on and I cross a few more things off my list.

Make dinner
Bake the bread
Switch the laundry

It’s Tuesday and Brad has to go back to work after dinner to teach online classes.  I don’t really look forward to these nights of solo parenting, especially after an already trying day.  

I kiss Brad goodbye and look at the pile of dishes that need loaded into the dishwasher.  The baby sits under my feet, banging a dirty spoon on my leg and the boys are ramping up to wrestle in the living room.  

“Jesus help me” I pray under my breath.

What I want to do is plop everyone in front of the TV and take that walk by myself, but what I know I need to do is gather everyone to go with me.  I muster up the courage, turn a blind eye to the dishes in the sink, and quickly yell throughout the house “GET YOUR BOOTS ON, WE’RE GOING FOR A WALK!”

Shouts of joy rise up, and a pack of children run into the kitchen and out the door with muck boots on feet.  I grab the baby carrier off the peg and strap my youngest daughter to my back before stepping into my own boots, mud still caked on the bottom from all the spring rains we’ve had recently.  

Everyone is already ahead of me.  They run down the well worn path to the left of the two ancient pear trees and to the right of the decrepit barn that’s slowly falling in.

Clunk, clunk clunk go my boots as they slide up and down my heel with every step.  

I pause at the edge of the meadow, near one of my favorite little oak trees and gasp at what I see.  

Not only are the may apples and ferns unfolding and growing, but there’s an enormous spot of golden ragwort, tall and majestic with their bright yellow blooms, that’s taken over nearly the entire eastern edge of the meadow.  

The kids are already running toward it with yee-haws and yippees.

I tromp over the ankle high grasses and smile as my children pick stem after stem of the small yellow flowers without making a dent.  They all jabber at once as they show me what they have found.  

I know I want to record this day forever.

I leave the baby with my oldest son and I huff and puff back up that big ol hill.  I grab my camera off the shelf where it sits out of reach of little hands.  

I hustle back down the hill, still giddy at our findings, when I hear the Lord say to me “Here is your quiet walk.”

“Oh,” I think and slow my gait.  The kids will be fine— I am in earshot of them at this point.  I take a moment and observe what is around me.  I thank God for His abundance and redemption of this day.  I let my mind calm down and be with Jesus.

When I reach my brood again, the evening light is shining in on them so perfectly that I gasp again.  I fill up a good portion of my memory card in just a few minutes because the kids are so eager to show me how many flowers they collected while I was gone.  I even hand my camera off so that I can get a few pictures of myself with the baby on my back.  Future me will be happy to have these shots.  

They gather as many flowers as they can carry and I declare that it is time to walk back to the house.  They are full of life and vitality as they run back up the hill.  

My heart is full as I walked back up and I think about the images I took and how beautiful they will be once I load them onto my computer.  

A little later, after everyone is washed up and into their PJ’s, we sit around the living room and I ask each kid, “What was a good part of your day?”

My daughter, who just turned 4, declares vehemently, “When we went over the hill and found the flowers!”

As each kid takes their turn they also declare that the trip down the hill was their favorite part of the day.  

I smile as we say our prayers, knowing that God answered my own desires in a way that surprised me today.  I got my quiet walk, and I gave my kids an experience that they will remember (at least through the pictures) for a long time to come.