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I call this blog “life as a late bloomer” because I tend to learn things very slowly… like painfully slow. Like I’m well into mid-life and I’m still having “AHA” moments when I have insights into my personality or why something is the way it is in this world or why I react a certain way in a given situation. And how I can’t think of any examples of those things above even though I know they are true. But I digress.

I guess that’s why I never realized that when I said a timid “yes” to taking over the income generation project at our church that it would take so much of my time, sweat and heart to get it going. That taking something that is a good idea and turning it into a real business would require so much sacrifice for all of us. And tea. And coffee.

And that getting to know the lives of women who live in a completely different world would change our family and how we think life should be lived. And would forever put a dent in my heart for the voiceless and hurting and those who have very few choices in their lives.

And that sometimes God has to put us in our own dark places so we can understand the pain of others–though we don’t realize that’s what he’s up to, and definitely don’t care to linger in it, but sometimes that’s just what happens.

That’s a bunch of “ands” and I’m just going to go with it.

And I have a really hard time some days because I think I should have everything all together, but I seriously don’t in any way. In fact I’ve been known as “grumpy mommy” for the past few days. Over the past few weeks I’ve ignored myself and the subtle signs that I’m doing too much. That I’m not breathing enough or paying attention to life going on immediately around me. And as such I’ve gotten to the very end of my resources, but I’m still trying to scrape by.

I should know the signs by now, but, I’m a slow study when it comes to myself. Sigh.

So I pulled myself back today from the to-do list and sat on the floor and played legos with the cutest two-year-old I know. I had a long conversation of gurgles with Wonder Baby and enjoyed his abundance of smiles. I let the eight-year-old lay his head on my shoulder as he read. I listened with as much interest as I could muster to the plot synopsis of a Percy Jackson book with our oldest and did a little braid for our princess instead of just throwing her hair into a pony-tail.

All of that sounds so small, but I’m amazed at how many days can pass without feeling like I’ve had meaningful contact with the kids on an individual level. Too often I get into task-mode and just go… until I smack into a wall.

So I’m learning still how to live this life of mine. How to merge it all together and establish some sort of rhythm that makes sense and doesn’t have me working during every quite moment of the day. It’s so hard for me to stop and pay attention most days. And remember to breathe-in the life around me instead of just trying to race to get tummies fed and tucked into bed by 8:30, which is not happening at all around here since summer break started.

And right now at 10:00 there may still be a very cute two-year-old wiggling around as I try to get these thoughts out coherently and this post concluded nicely, so I think I’m just going to have to go with what we have because it’s too late to reason with a sleepy toddler and perhaps conclusions are highly overrated anyway.

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