On letting go, letting today be what it is, and making room for tomorrow.
“Me sleep with dis?” My 3 year old asked, her little arms clinging tightly around her old sleep sack. Her eyes were as convincing as her sweet little voice.
“Of course, honey. But you're too big to fit inside it now, so you'll have to just snuggle it like a lovey.” Somehow, the words made it out over the lump in my throat.
She sighed and buried her face into the well loved sleep sack, breathing in the comfort of the familiar as she attempted a nap that’s sporadic at best these days.
I recognized that sigh, as only a few hours earlier I had inhaled that same intoxicating breath.
In our crawl space, where the overflow of storage accumulates, I sat. Organizing, purging, sorting boxes of baby clothes. 6 months, summer. 12 months, stained. Coat. Shoes…
…sleep sack.
The tears welled up as quickly as I pulled that soft (made softer by the wear) sleep sack up and onto my face.
I breathed it in.
The memories, the feel, the smell. It was washed before it was boxed up, but I am telling you I could smell her. My baby girl.
When I first boxed it up it was a pink sleep sack.
But when I unboxed it, it was no longer just a sleep sack.
It was the middle of the night feedings. It was a wiry bed-head looking up at me, grin wet with milk and pudgy hands reaching for my face. It was the rhythm of the rocking chair and the sound of my voice quietly singing hymns over her. It was the perfect little nose pressed into my neck and the gentle patpat on her bottom to help quiet her.
It was the unmet longing for this baby to not be my last baby.
It was the reminder that my crawl space is full of things I no longer need. Things that belong to a period in time I spent an eternity praying for and then came and went in a moment.
A moment in time I truly loved.
Letting go
I could sit here holding this sleep sack for the rest of my days.
In moments like this it really feels like I could.
But as I look up from my keyboard, I see the walls of our room decorated in the artwork of my kids. Kids who are too big to fit into a sleep sack, but who are just big enough to want to draw their momma pictures of things they know I love.
My heart is so full.
It can be hard to let go of what was.
Particularly if it was a really sweet season.
But when we hold on too tightly, refusing to acknowledge the turn in seasons, the mounting boxes of things that were wonderful, but meant for a different time/season, only make it harder to see the blessings here today. Right now.
Let today be what it is
Not what it used to be or what you wish it would be. Just embrace today for what it is. Because for all that it is or isn’t, today is precisely as it should be. Precisely as God has purposed.
There is beauty in this season.
Sure, there’s whining, messy bedrooms, and sibling fighting. But someday, to be sure, I will unbox these memories too.
And I will remember the pint sized aprons and flour covered faces and table. The mispronounced words. The bouquet of dandelions. The walks around the block. The bugs in dirt stained hands. And our room, covered in the most beautiful artwork.
Letting go isn’t annihilation.
It’s acknowledging what was, while holding fast to what is.
It’s keeping the sleep sack and a few other treasures, but knowing it’s time to pass the others along.
It’s letting the sweet memories and salty tears flood my mind and stain my face from time to time. Rejoicing in the gift that season was, grieving the end of it. Praising God for it all.
It’s doing the work necessary in my heart (and my crawl space!) to rid myself of the clutter distracting me from the full enjoyment of this season.
It’s making room for what’s to come.
Letting go of yesterday. Living wholeheartedly today. Making room for tomorrow.
What do you need to let go of?
“For I am God and there is no other. I am God and there is none like me, declaring the end from the beginning and from ancient times things not yet done, saying, ‘My counsel shall stand, and I will accomplish all I purpose.’“ Isaiah 46:9-10
