Making it all make sense

Life so rarely makes complete sense. There is always some conundrum or other tickling the back of my brain, niggling away at me, reminding me that the goal of obtaining sufficient wisdom to understand my world, much less the desire to pass said wisdom on to my tween daughter so that she can somehow arrange the shifting pieces of her puzzle to form a coherent picture, is quixotic at best. I struggle with God's promise to equip me fully to meet all the demands of His perfect plan when I spend so much of my time feeling woefully ill-equipped. Ill-equipped to navigate the vicissitudes of tween mood swings,unprepared to face the decline of my physical condition. When Ella was 2 I drove nine hours to visit friends in NY. Three years ago I traveled to Italy. These days driving to Roanoke is a real stretch and just getting through Target is a small victory. And what happened to the sweet-faced girl who once begged for snuggles and play time. She is now a nearly grown girl who truly appreciates the ride to dance or the new tennis shoes, but is it really necessary that we walk together in the mall, and can I not behave and stay in my room when she is entertaining guests? When she was in preschool I prayed diligently for her to find the right circle of friends, ones who would spur her on to be the best version of herself and give her confidence that she was likable not because of how high she jumped or if she wore the right jumper, but because she was Ella and that was enough and always would be. The very first answer to that prayer arrives Sunday for their annual week together and the second returns from Texas the same weekend. In the final analysis, I do not have to amass wisdom; I have to perk up my ears and listen as God doles it out moment by moment, situation by situation. I do not have to put the pieces together for Ella. God will guide those capable hands, hands made that way by Him. And the puzzle will confound her at times, and she will dig deep and pray hard and figure it out. And as for my physical decline, I cannot jump as high or run as fast (ok, at all) as I used,but nine days out of ten I can get up and go to a job I love and take care of the child I adore. And on the tenth day I rest to sweeten the other nine and lean on the village I have so carefully chosen for us, all of whom stand ready to fill in the gaps. I am not defined by my challenges or limitations. I am defined by my response, a response I get to choose- every minute, every hour, every day. And by the Grace of God, I choose to answer not with self-pity and dependence and fear, but with strength and self-confidence and the belief that by allowing another to assist me, I strengthen a bond and invite a future opportunity to serve another.