Like Laundry On A Line

I have a dream. My family has a dream; To live on a little farm. To leave city life behind and start something fresh. Something new. Something that is rooted in hard work and patience and faith. To live a life that is bigger than what we can fit on our DVR. To live in a new community serving and being served. Opening our hearts to those that are different than us yet the same. To try something brave and risky and off the rat-race track.

Sweet Man and I talk about how we want our boys to learn the values of hard work, endurance, & tenacity. We hope to instill in them an appreciation for a slower rhythm of life and cultivate the ability to wait within in them. We see the repetitive nature of changing seasons, sowing and harvesting and daily chores as benefits to their souls as much as to our livelihood (if not more.) Like waiting for the laundry to dry. There is something to be said afterall for the daily trek to and from the laundry line, hanging wet clothes, unable to hang the next load until the first is dry, for building stamina and patience and finding some perspective about how much control one really has over things.



If you were to ask around you would find that I am not known for my patience in large matters. I am not known for kicking back and letting whatever will be be once I am ready to move.
It’s true that I pay great lip service to that ideal, and often I mean it. I mean it when it comes to things like “what’s for dinner?” or how my kids dress or what Sweet Man drives.
But I don’t really mean it when it comes to my dreams. My plans. My hopes.
I like a good old fashioned road map. An itinerary. I like having concrete plans and concrete back-up plans and concrete back up plans for the back up plans.
Ifs and maybes are not my cup of tea.

In January of 2011 our dream of having a farm (something we have been talking about off and on for about 5 years) began to sprout earnest buds of hope. In April we found a farm and we fell head over heels in love.
And in December of 2011 we made an offer on that farm and it was accepted.
With one catch. We need to sell our current house.



This is where we are today: In Limbo. Playing The Waiting Game. Being Patient. Whatever you call it, I call it Ick. I hate it. I stomp my feet and toy with trying to strike a bargain with God (as if he is my own peronsal Let’s Make a Deal host!)
Because I can only see part of the picture, I know only part of the story and as much as I love what I see, it is what I can’t see that keeps me up at night. The not knowing is what I hate. Not knowing how or when or if this dream will all work out is what I loathe. Some days my impatience is so present that it makes me itch like a bad rash.

I am tempted to be like Sarah. To find a way around this. To find my version of Hagar (Gen. 16) and make it work.
I come up with wild schemes in the middle of the night.
I make Pinterest inspired idea boards for each room of the Farmhouse. I pick out flooring and paint colors and backsplashes and I start to think that maybe God is waiting for me to figure out how to put this puzzle together.
Maybe he is waiting on me to take charge.
And then I laugh.
Yeah,that always works out GREAT. Me playing God. Awesome plan.

Nope. That won’t do (hopefully that is a lesson I have learned. Maybe?)
Instead of controlling how things go I have to wait.
I have to wait on for whatever will be to be.
I have to wait for the best to be. Not some half-baked will do version.
And while I wait, I have to live here, where I am. Not in my head at the farm. Not in the land of worry that no one will ever buy this house. Not in the plans that I have for my future.
Instead of spending all my energy trying to see the rest of the picture, trying to figure out how the story ends, trying to peer around the corner, playing fortune teller ,worrying about it will come together, I need to love the piece of the picture I can see. The bit that I can touch and experience and hold now. I need to enjoy my life & my circumstances as they are, not as I hope they will be.



I need to love seeing my kids faces each morning, half asleep and hair all out of place.
My Sweet Man cooking us dinner over our imperfect yet very adequate stove top.
I need to love my dry roof, my large fluffy bed, my central heat and air. The close proximity to friends and work and church. The large For Sale sign in my front yard. The gift of having a dream and a partner who shares that dream with me.
This is my life-limbo and all.
And it is beautiful. Just as it is, even in the waiting. Like laundry on the line.