Chopped

This is my rosebush.  My husband got it for me for Valentine's Day a couple of weeks after I had our daughter five years ago.  He expected --hoped-- that it would die after I had enjoyed its finery for a couple weeks, maybe a month. Alas, I found that miniature rose bushes can be kept and enjoyed in the house for all eternity. I was thrilled. My husband was not.

Since then, my rosebush has gone through phase after phase. It gets devoured by spider mites until I remember to treat it and it recovers, leggy, almost leafless but with one beautiful bloom on a scraggly branch. I then diligently spray the mites and it recovers, only to be left for a week or two while we are farming, and it gets starved for water.

I've come to empathize with my precious rosebush. Often it is in the seasons that I'm the most haggard and busy that I simply neglect it, and its appearance mirrors my own feelings. 

That was especially the case this winter. I've always been the kind of person with way too many hobbies and interests and not enough time. I've been chided with remarks about being a Jack-of-all-trades and master of none, and how a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing (though I haven't found this to be the case with my music, except maybe for my listeners).

I've always felt that I *could* be doing more. Compared myself to others who are seemingly, seamlessly doing it all. Felt as though, if I spent one moment at home, the elusive "everyone" would surely be building priceless memories without me.

This winter it became unmanageable. As long as all my plates spun exactly as they were supposed to, I could rush through the week "successfully." Two hundred inches of rain (a hyperbole) during harvest was the first monkey wrench flung into my plate spinning act. Then a winter of passing around sicknesses, amidst trying to organize two Christmas programs. 

The final straw was needing to address some health issues with our daughter, which added one more thing to the mix.  Enter full on meltdown mode for me. I was just like that scraggly rose bush my husband detests: half wilted, leaves falling off, with one gorgeous bloom every so often that sucked the life out of the rest of the plant. Why keep it? he insists.

I decided to hack the plant down to nothing. Only the barest glimmer of a stalk can be seen. Coincidentally, this Covid-19 stuff started rearing its head in our area about the same time. Everything was canceled. Not to trivialize the massive economic impact or the terrible time that people are having with it, but my first reaction to the cancellations was a sigh of relief (along with those feelings of uncertainty, but we all know about those). My calendar was suddenly empty. Everything, cut off.

I decided to use this time (as probably many others are) to reflect on exactly what I can prune out of life. 

Two weeks later, my plant is still looking pretty crappy. The shoot that appeared almost as soon as I cut off the whole shebang, still tiny. I had expected to see something great coming out of it. I know this is poor writing and totally predictable, but it’s the truth that yet again, Rosebush reflects real life.

I honestly thought that having no commitments, no worries that everyone else was hanging out without me (Why yes, I am 13. Why do you ask?), would be a mental reset. It was, at first. I rode my horse, got in a good prayer routine, practiced music, spent tons of time outside. Yaaayyy. Then it was cold for one day, and I read an article (do not, Best Beloved, read articles). I yelled at my kids, decided I wasn't doing enough in any area of my life, and the golden calf of Unbusy was melted. Having fewer commitments just made me find different ones. My last “If I just slow down life will get easier” was shattered. 

Like that rose bush, there is nothing I can do to make my life magically easier/more magical. We live in a world with coronavirus and cancer, after all. Like the rosebush, I can’t water myself, or keep the spider mites at bay. Thankfully, unlike my care of my rosebush, the Lord cares for me perfectly. Sure, self care and slowing down is important. We all need to have the dead stuff pruned off from time to time. But ultimately all I can pray for is to cling to my Savior who has provided for me perfectly by His death on the cross, to know that He will continue to "water" me with His Word and Sacrament.

"How are you?" "Oh, busy!" "Yeah, us, too!"

I'm always whining about how busy we are. Sometimes it feels like all we do is run, run, run. I think this is a very common theme in modern life, almost to the point of becoming cliche. We complain and complain but do nothing about it.

This winter has been tough. Not weather-wise, but running and sickness-wise. I've felt like the kids and I have been trading germs all winter. With our youngest not sleeping well at night for the past several months, I'm pretty sure that the constant running plus the toll of not having a normal sleep schedule is catching up with my body. Such is modern life, I'm told.

As a homeschooling family I feel a strong pressure to have my kids "in" things. I don't feel like it's a lot, until I start listing it: gymnastics, 4H, Sunday school, Wednesday school, violin lessons, my weekly music teaching that they get dragged along to, home school group activities, and if we're lucky, a play date here and there! Plus commuting two hours to farm in certain seasons.

I know, I know, we're not "that" busy. We aren't driving across the state for wrestling meets, dance competitions, music camps or hockey games. Suck it up, Buttercup. Right?

No (Here you can picture me as Grumpy Cat, the famous contrarian). I'm getting to the point that I realize something has to give, and it has to give in a big way. I was told the other day that "it will only get worse," "it will just get busier as your kids get involved in more activities." But why?

Back up several years, to my later college years. I'm double majoring in Norwegian and Elementary Ed. Trying to squeeze as much value out of my nearly-free state education as I can. My academic advisors approach me, wondering what my plans are come graduation. Students like me are needed in growing cities like Las Vegas and Phoenix once we graduate as teachers. They'll pay for housing. It's a great professional move. Or I could get my master's degree for nearly free, working in the Grand Forks school district under a veteran teacher while gaining experience in the field. It's not an opportunity to turn down. Or, I could get my master's in history or some other field and delve into Scandinavian studies. I could go somewhere. Or I could pursue music further.

"No, I'm going to try to get a job in a one-room school in western North Dakota." I got quite used to being looked at like I had three heads. "But there's no growth potential there! All those little schools are shutting down!", this being before the oil boom. "Don't you want a challenge? A chance for success in your field?" Nah. Instead I found my dream job at age 22.

I left that job for my *real* dream job of being a stay-at-home-mom at 27, this time getting comments of "so....you're gonna stay home for a couple years until your kids go to preschool, right?" and "Wow, you barely got to use your degree. What a waste." Eight years later I gleefully continue to answer "no" to those questions, as well.

Some of my kids' and my most cherished moments (okay, maybe just for me) are our hikes, our times outside just meandering. Today Josie and I made snowballs, just to throw them into the air, or eat them, since the dogs weren't with us! Then we looked at the sky and caught snowflakes on our tongues. "It feels like I'm floating up into the sky," she said. I agreed.

When we get too caught up in our busy-ness, we end up losing these chances at meandering. I'm not okay with that. And I'm finally becoming okay with not being okay with that, if that makes sense.

I'm not sure what we are going to cut out at this point. It won't be church activities, because that's a priority for us that comes above even meandering (gasp!). I also relish times for my kids to be around their friends; not only in a classroom setting or taking turns in an activity, but actively developing friendships and learning the ins and outs of those friendships. Since we don't go to school I do have to be more intentional about this, which is hard to do when we have so many danged activities getting in the way!

But in being intentional, getting down to the nitty-gritty of what is important in our lives, and throwing the rest out to make space to just "be," I feel like we have a good start.