I worked on Tuesday night.  Big news, right?  Actually, this is noteworthy because my contract work as an adoption home study caseworker is not a frequent or regular occurrence.   That night, I was going to do a post placement visit.  And gotta tell you.  I love that part of my job.  It's when I get to go visit a family after they've traveled around the world to bring home their new child.  It's amazing to see how God's big plan comes together when an orphan from around the world is placed in a forever family who have yearned to fill a void in their own lives. 

The family I was going to visit were a bit busy.  That is an understatement.  They have two biological sons who are school age and preschool age.  And they'd just brought home a toddler daughter from China.  I sat in their adorable living room (she's a Pinterest mom big time!) and was mesmerized as I watched the mom carry on a conversation with me, continually corral her climbing and fearless daughter, and monitor her two busy guys.  She did so with ease and grace and patience.  A smile on her face and laughter in her voice.  

It was incredible to witness.  And my response amused me.  I found myself nostalgic and wistful as I remembered my own days juggling a baby, preschooler and kindergartner.  Those days when I was never finishing anything--from a sentence to a project to a task.  Because the name of the game was juggling the constant flow of interruptions and needs that came with my busy crew.  I felt exhausted.  And I'd like to think that on my best days, I pulled it off to look easy breezy like this young adoptive mother did.  But, somehow, I don't know if I could have pulled it together like that--even for a social worker visiting for the purpose of documenting our family's situation.  

When our visit wrapped up, I walked out like some geriatric granny, smiling at her and telling her to enjoy these days because they go so fast.  Oh, yes.  I did that.  Said that thing I was told over and again and it sounded so cliche and empty in my chaos.  It was meant to offer me hope and insight and encouragement.  But, I usually thought to myself, "Oh, yes.  How about YOU enjoy these days?  C'mon over if you're missing it so much.  I'll put you to work!"

But there I was, in her entry way, telling her she was doing a great job and to soak it all in.  She received it graciously, as I expected she would.

And I knew my words could never hold the weight of what I wanted to convey.

Back in the day when that harried mother was me, I made an endless list of the "somedays."  Someday, when my kids are bigger, I won't feel so tired.  Someday, when they can all swim, I might actually enjoy a trip to the pool without feeling so frayed.  Someday, when my kids are in school, I'll sit around and eat bon-bons and complete that laundry list of someday projects.  Or hey--someday, I'll just actually complete the laundry for longer than a minute and a half.  Someday, I'll go the bathroom alone.  And in that precious season, my children will go the bathroom alone.  Without calling me to wipe their hiney.




News flash, mamas.  (And papas, if you are reading, too).

THESE are the somedays.  Today.  Right now.  Right here.  

We have this incredible human tendency to imagine and long for brighter, easier days that are constantly just outside of arm's reach.  Someday, when I make a little bit more, I'll never fret about money.  Someday, when my kids are bigger, I'll feel more content and balanced.  Someday, when I have more free time, I'll dive headlong in the hobbies I've put aside.  

Our grass is always greener mentality means we never actually appreciate the somedays that are happening today.

But, THESE are the somedays.  We are already "there"--in that place where we have arrived.  Whether your "there" today is juggling three busy, young children, or feeding your newborn baby around the clock, or stretching your wings in your newly empty nest.  THESE are the somedays.  

This is the day the Lord has made.  Let us rejoice and be glad in it. 

THIS is the day crafted by the God of all creation, when He reaches his glorious sovereign hand into our world to give us another day.  The wonder of this clash of heaven with earth should never cease to amaze us.

Just ask a mother who has lost a child.  And would give anything for even the worst and hardest day of being a mommy.

Just ask a mother who is one step ahead of you.  Ask her what she misses most about the season you are in.  

And somewhere, in the chaos of your day, stop and listen.  To the sound of your laughing children.  To the loud and sometimes annoying sounds of happy, healthy children filling your home.  And think of those dealing with infertility who long for YOUR someday.  For your chaos.

Today, stop and look at your little ones.  Or your big ones who are eye to eye with you, as in the case of my children.  Look at their smiles and the way they were perfectly created.  Remember the wonder that these gifts have been entrusted to you.  Picture their grown faces and how you'll miss the very things that are making you have to count to ten today.  In fact, I'm betting that the most annoying part of this mommy day will grow faint in our memories. Like the pains of labor or the angst of the adoption process.  Somehow, the years will erase the sharpness of the hard times and give us a more balanced perspective as we look back.  Our current "pulling our hair out" moment will become something to chuckle about.

In this someday, remember.  Your work is sacred.  A sacrifice pleasing to the Lord.  The incredible, God honoring work of pouring into the life of a child.  The words you say and lessons you teach and instructions you give are shaping them.  And they will remember.  Someday.  And they will be grateful.

Someday, they will look back at all you did, and they will be in awe of how you managed these somedays.  Because they will be bogged down in the midst of their own someday.

Friend, you have arrived.  THIS is your someday.  These are your treasures.  His inheritance.  His gift.  Let us embrace our someday and use it to continue to build a legacy.