I shouldn't be blogging right now. I have six browser tabs open. Two of my kids are still awake. I still haven't cancelled the phone and internet at the old house.
The old house.
It's weird calling it that. It's weird but not hard.
God's plans are always bigger than ours, you know? This whole thing. This...crazy thing...doesn't even really feel like it was our idea. Do you know what I mean?
Earlier this evening Tommy sent me "out" to do whatever I wanted, because toddlers. What I wanted wasn't to go out out, it was just to go outside. To breathe a little. To dig a little.
I took a bunch of paper bags from the overpriced, convenient grocery store with the clerks that load your bags into your car for you (I love you, Harding's. I wish I could only ever shop at you.), put on that ugly orange knit cap, grabbed my beer and marched straight out the gate.
Okay, it was out a small gate first, down some steps, across the deck, out another gate, through the yard, and then out a THIRD gate. Which is crazy. What is this, some kind of movie set?
The first bag was filled with butternut squash, the second with potatoes and parsnips, the third with yellow squash. The only reason I stopped is that it was getting too dark to see. On my way back through the yard, I stopped at one of the apple trees to threw a few of those into one of the bags with the rest of my haul.
And I just stood there for a moment.
When I tell you about how all of this happening, I don't talk much about how incredibly humbled and grateful and astounded I am to live this life.
As I stood there under the apple tree, in my yard, a brisk October breeze making the branches dance against a twilight sky, it all seemed so very impossible. From those high school days of selfishness, insecurity, foolishness, to those college parties and stupid decisions and keeping my guardian angel working overtime, to married life- having three kids in a small two bedroom apartment in an apartment complex with regular visits from the police on the weekends, buying a house in Michigan off the internet for less than the cost of a Toyota Sienna minivan....
And now this?
When we think about miracles, it's normal I think to imagine something that exists in a single moment. A switch from one painful, earthly thing to a totally opposite, remarkable spiritual thing. The BOOM. The magic. And of course there are some miracles that are like that.
But maybe a miracle can also last 7 or 15 or 34 years. Maybe a miracle can unfold slowly, like a flower blooming. Slowly, over time, creating something that won't even make sense or seem possible when you try and tell the story. And then one night you're standing under an apple tree with an ugly orange knit cap on and you realize that you are living a miracle.
This post may contain affiliate links. That means that
if you make a purchase, I get some pennies as a reward for telling you
about whatever that thing is. You don't pay any more or any less, but
you help keep the blog chugging along. So thank you!