I get used to my world.
The work week. Quiet. Office chairs and computers that don't talk to me. Space to think. The hum of co-workers conversations with each other or with customers. A pile of checks to open and deposit. An occasional outburst from my boss in the corner - but thankfully never directed at me (yet).
Saturday mornings. Quiet and still. Just the drip of a coffee pot until I pour myself a cup and settle into the couch with my Bible. Watching the peaceful, morning mountains outside my living room window become more alive as the sun brightens the day.
A world of (young) adulthood. The day ahead of me completely directed by me. By my own desires and personal agenda. Hiking, writing and reading, church. My current mood continually reflected by my choice of a Pandora station on my iPhone.
It seems, sometimes, as if I have never lived in a house with five other highly vocal and opinionated people. Five other dynamic and musically-inclined individuals.
And then I come back.
Just for an evening, which turns into spending the night, which turns into a July 5th holiday with the family.
And then I remember.
I remember what it was like years ago. I remember waking up to little sisters laughing on the couch as I came down in my pajamas. I remember waking up to a scolding for not having my chores done on time. I remember waking up to the sound of Christian radio while my parents danced around in the kitchen frying bacon and setting the table. I remember, once again, how quickly a happy conversation can turn from laughing hysterically to everyone going in separate rooms after one ill-spoken comment. I remember opening our garage door on a warm 9:00am morning to the swarm of neighborhood children wanting to play. I remember how difficult it is to finish a complete sentence. I remember what it is like to have to jump on your opportunity to speak before you miss your chance. I remember not being able to stop laughing and almost choking on milk over something not-that-funny. I remember the almost-constant motion. And I remember the treasure of staying up late at night to listen to the quiet.
When I come back, I can't believe I have forgotten.
That was my world.
And now, it is no longer my world.
But, it will be my world again someday.
God-willing, someday, I will be waking up to assuage the night cries of my little ones. I will be asking my husband to please take the big brother to baseball practice while I stay home with the sick ones in bed. I will be cutting coupons and making Costco runs to feed the ever-hungry and ever-moving mouths. I will be setting the dinner table for six and will eventually start eating before all six seats are filled because we can’t wait any longer for the high-schooler to get home from rehearsal. I will mediate between the fights and the tears. I will swell with joy and gratitude when I hear the sound of all my kids laughing at something not-that-funny. I will be proud when I see the older one teach the younger one how to find verses in the Bible.
Perhaps that will be me someday. My biggest prayer is that it will be.
And in those days still yet to come, I will remember.
I will remember what it was like in my young years of marriage. I will remember what it is like to change Friday night plans on a whim. I will remember what it was like to do something spontaneous with my husband just because we can. And I will remember the peace of a quiet Saturday morning after a long work week. I will remember the magic of the morning with my husband still in bed, and the only sound being the dripping of a coffee pot until I pour myself a cup and settle into the couch with my Bible.
I am going to enjoy these days I am living in. These days of youthfulness mixed with adulthood, peacefulness mixed with stress, busyness mixed with control of how I desire to order my time, and quiet Saturday mornings that will not last forever.
I will strive to fully embrace each season I am in.
But in each season, I will try to remember.