We walked the back field this morning…freshly cut and lying fallow.
The boys ran on ahead, and I marveled at the growth- two boys a whole head taller.
Kairos and chronos time converged in that moment and left me breathless, heart-wide-open.
We scrambled all over this field in the early spring, running the length and breadth, lifting kites high to the wind, rainbows dancing wide arcs. Husband and I laid back on quilt while children gamboled about like lambs, staring at the wide blue, cotton puff clouds lazy floating by. Dreams and prayers circled and rose like the drowsy dragonfly twirling.
Now is the season of work and labor. I found myself wondering as the boys and I traced the back field this morning if my harvest was ready or not. Oh children, it’s so far in the future, you know? But little milestones along the way act like fenceposts to the journey, letting us know of progress. And how they grow, these little men of mine- by leaps and bounds overnight, pants grown to shorts and toes sprouting from shoes.
This summer has brought heavy the weight of responsibility upon me with my boys. My girl too, but my older boys, they grow tall and ask heart-questions bigger than the sky some days. And I realized I was stuck in backwards looking, imagining them always as innocent and in need of my care, and this is ever the opposite in reality. If I was a mother wise, I would be helping them learn to fly, not remembering days of babyhood. And I had not been praying for them as I should have been.
I just (dare I say?) was not paying as much attention as I should have been. Walking the fields and hearts of my older boys lives, I was surprised at the weeds (and fruits too) growing there. This summer has been one of change, of attention, of quiet. And of prayer. Oh, of prayer.
I live so often in Chronos, studying clock, ticking off to do list, rush, hurry, and bustle, but life (and my children) are in Kairos. They are where I belong, theirs is the time I should be living in, and so I have been learning. Learning to say yes, learning to pause, learning to listen, learning to truly hear. Learning quiet attentiveness. I, word-full, have found this so difficult, a strain of muscle not trained properly. The blessings though have been quick and clear, and I am encouraged to continue in the stretch.
But still I wonder. What will my harvest bring in the years to come? Is there still Kairos enough in these ever short years of childhood? Will they know how much I love them? Will they know how much I desire that they love God as I do, that they join in faith with Him? When the time comes, will I have been found faithful?