I Can Enjoy This

on motherhood, grief, and gratitude

Sometimes a morning, a day, a week, a year, a life doesn’t turn out like you were expecting. I type this in my office after a morning of interruptions and inconveniences——the broken glass jar of homemade plum jam, the chicken that needed to be cooked before expiring, all the little voices and hands clamoring for my attention, the questions that never stop. In the back of my mind is the current of thought that wants to run freely. I want to figure it out. I want to know how to live. I want to make the most of my life, but it keeps rushing up on me. All plans fall short.

Sometimes I want to just get to the thing I am trying to do in life. The next big thing. The important work that keeps suggesting itself to me in the quiet spaces of my heart.

But I am a mother of children, and motherhood has changed the pace of my life. I have lost the ability to make concrete plans, to schedule a day without chaos, an hour without interruption.

I wanted to get up, first thing, and be alone with my thoughts. But the baby was there, waking as I inched away from him toward the edge of the bed. He smiled at me with his whole sweet beautiful face. A smile that might as well have been a laugh. Eyes as bright as the shining sun.

I can enjoy this, I remind myself.

I slow down. I touch his face, I squeeze his fat little arms. I look into the eyes that lock in on me and connect myself back to the love that is being offered to me by God through the sweet and pure, gentle love of a newborn baby. He will not always be a baby. He will not always give me the gift of his first smile of the day.

I can enjoy this.

My father died three months ago. I keep flashing back to the circling of the family around his deathbed, his labored, mechanical breathing, and the final letting go. Sometimes, grief hits hard, out of nowhere. The gaping ache that goes right through me like a draft of cold, gusty wind when someone leaves the door open in the dead of winter. People die. How can I reconcile my own life with these devastating losses that will continue to come as long as I live? I can find myself paralyzed by this question. Unable to move into the rhythm of a day where children need me to be fearless and focused. They are asking me for milk. They want to know what’s for breakfast. They want to know the plan for the day. They want to know how to spell Odyssey and the symbol for square root and if their friends can spend the night.

I can enjoy this, I remind myself.

I snap out of my despair, pour the milk, and press the cup into the perfect, chubby hands of my golden-haired boy. He is alive. His eyes are lit with the eternal spark of life, and I am witness to the beautiful flame. I can enjoy this. I can enjoy this.

I spell the word, write the symbol, say yes or no. I walk into the kitchen with dishes stacked high and pans that need scrubbing. The work is never over. I catch the eye of my sixteen-year-old daughter, her messy bun toppling over to one side. She is singing at the top of her lungs while she sweeps the kitchen floor. This is a good life. I can enjoy this, I say to myself. I move through the messy kitchen and begin to sing harmony.

Sometimes, I am so caught up in my own plans or in trying to understand, that I forget to enjoy the life that is before me. I spend so much time trying to get to the next thing that I am blind to the things that are here, now, that truly matter.

This is my life.

I can enjoy this, I remind myself.

I can enjoy this.

Sometimes I am scared of what life might ask of me. I’m reeling from how much has already been taken. Hopes flown. Some shot down, some still circling, looking for a landing. Sometimes I am trying so hard to prepare myself for the next possible loss that I miss out on the beauty of my real, tangible life.

Here it is, I remind myself.

Running feet, late-night conversations, radio blaring, Star Wars marathons, read-alouds, mud cakes, spilled water, nursing baby, piano songs, snuggles on couches, basslines, letters in the mail, happy children swarming a van full of groceries, mountains of laundry, words on the page, tea in the afternoon, the smell of garlic, homemade pizza, library books, ink on paper, tears that fall, comfort, knowing, being known. Heartbeat. Rhythmic breath. Memory. Hope. The singing heart. The love of God that meets me in every moment.

I can enjoy this. I can enjoy this.

I can enjoy this.

A doodle left for me in my journal by Azalea.

Dear friends,

These four words have been rising up in me over the last couple of weeks in times when I feel a growing desperation to have something out of my reach. I want to enjoy this life, to live it as fully and as presently as I can. Sometimes I just have to remember that this is it—not some future version of myself where the house is clean and my books are written and our schedule is running like clockwork. I am surrendering to the work God is doing in my life. There is so much here to be grateful for. I can enjoy this.

I hope these words will stick with you and bring peace and gratitude to your life as well.

Thank you so much for reading these letters. Your presence here is a gift to me.

Sending love,

Mackenzie

From the Family Archive:

This video just makes me happy. I love hearing my family play music together. This is the stuff our life is made of…

My Book:

Journal Prompt:
Set a timer for 5 minutes, and write a list of things that you enjoy in your real life right now. They can be big things or small things. Let your heart fill up with gratitude to God for the your real, tangible, right-here-right-now life. (If you would like to share your list with me, feel free to leave it in the comments or reply by email if this came to your inbox.)