It has become more and more challenging to post these updates. As it turns out we have been on more of a journey than a trip.  It has been exhausting at times but we have packed in as many visits as humanly possible.  Even then, time has run out before I could see some people I hoped to see.  The visits we did have however have had me thinking, praying, grateful. 

There has been a theme to the conversations we have had over and over and over across the country and back as well as in the emails in between.  Many of us are parenting adult people now.  Let me just tell you that is surreal. And wonderful.  And a little terrifying.  

I remember so many of us as we navigated first pregnancies, colic, feeding, sleeping – or not sleeping.  The days when the first trip to the grocery store alone with your newborn and toddler could strike fear in the bravest hearts.  Those little people could cut loose with a blood curdling scream with no notice at all.  They might vomit their body weight at church.  Lock themselves into the public restroom.  Stick tweezers into light sockets.  Climb out windows.  Get away from you at the library, skillfully remaining on the other side of the shelves while you dodge left and right with the stroller.  

Ask me how I know. 

There were days when you landed in bed exhausted just keeping them alive and well. It was hard to imagine it ever being harder than this.  In truth what got us through some of those hours was the firm belief that when they 'got bigger' it was going to be SO much easier. 

We were wrong about that. 

There comes a day when you no longer have to put on their pjs nor put them to bed.  But instead of sleeping soundly like you pictured, you find yourself lying awake praying they have enough snow driving skills to make it home ok.  You no longer frantically search for that second church shoe but you may sit in the pew praying fervently for the child who is home questioning the faith.  Instead of beating back the laundry monster you are skyping married children living in other states, your machine sitting quiet nearby. 

It's not all bad.  It's just not all as easy as we may have expected.  You play your cards right and they grow up to be fascinating intelligent people. They also grow up to be people with free will and all the other challenges everyone has.  They make decisions that may echo your own.  Or they may make choices that are very different.  (that part is often ok)

That bit about there being no second generation Christians is really true.  That bit about learning from our own mistakes more than anyone else's is also true.  They have to work out their stuff just like we did.  This is where we move into an advisory role and then realize that we would give anything to once again be able to do all the work ourselves.  

It's tempting to over analyze at this stage, especially if you still have children at home.  Did we do things "right"?  Were we strict enough? Too strict? Did we read enough books?  Give them enough vitamins?  What could we or should we have done differently?

We have spent the past several weeks sharing stories of those long ago years and connecting with people who knew us when.  We have heard their stories.  We have laughed til we cried.  We have cried til we could laugh again.  I kid you not – over and over and over again.  

So when a younger mom asked me to elaborate about some impressions I had about the difference between raising kids "then" versus now I just was not quite able.  Not yet. There are just not enough words formed yet to sum up.  I can only say it was worth it, for all of us, this journey.  It has stretched us beyond belief.  Our hearts have a far greater capacity then we expected. Even when broken they hold joy we could not have dreamed of. 

As one friend said, "It's been quite a ride."

Quite a ride indeed.  I am privileged to have traveled along with so many awesome women.  And as much as I miss them it is so incredible to have them sprinkled all over the world wherever we go.  Here's to us, friends. This thing we are doing is as big as it feels. Big stuff.  

(totally random and sorta unrelated recent snaps from the road)

When we had a little pocket of time last week we took a drive together, Allen and the little kids and I, to the places I lived when I too was little. The first stop was this farm outside Milwaukee where my grandparents boarded and bred horses. My youth is divided into two distinct eras – the 'old farm' years and the 'new farm' years – based on where my grandparents and the horses were and hence, where I was to found whenever possible. 

I have been back here once or twice before but never with a camera. It was good to have real pictures to connect to my memories.  I can remember what it was like sitting behind that picture window in my grandmothers' office while she sat at her desk writing letters.  I remember the tulips that used to bloom in a circular brick planter in the yard.  The Victorian picture frame that came from this attic is sitting in my house in England.  Whoever would have imagined?

I remember my grandfather teaching me to skip in the gravel drive between the house and the barn.  That drive seemed to be a vast wide open frontier that stretched to infinity.  It took a loooong time to cross that space at one point in my life, to climb the ramp into the hayloft and walk very carefully avoiding the cracks in the wooden floor. 

It was a happy place.  A place where my grandmother made snow angels with me. Where she polished white nurses shoes before her evening shifts.  Where a plank was drilled with two holes and threaded with a coarse rope to make one perfect swing for me in a tree in the yard.  My dog is buried in those woods.  If I close my eyes I can hear dry leaves crunch underfoot as I made the pilgrimage to pay my respects to that old friend. 

The milkhouse with the cool concrete floor where I played for hours on end still stands. The fields where I used to race my pony are now full of suburban homes, no longer new. Ironically the streets were all named after British locations.  I cried a little on those blacktopped streets where grass once grew tall and the wind used to whip through a sorrel Shetland's mane. 

I miss this place and the people who loved me there.  I miss the visits from the city relatives in cat's eye glasses and cars with leather seats.  I miss my grandparents.  Since they couldn't come to the wedding I really wanted to 'see' them.  This was where I went.

 We had a little time afterwards so we made a wide swing into the city to show the children my other homes.  This gets trickier all the time since most of the homes we have lived in over the years have been torn down.  This city holds different memories for me.  Not all good.  But it is a city I moved back to for college, the city I became engaged in. It was the city our son was married in, right across the street from the college his father attended.  Surreal.  That's all I can say. 

Much has changed here too.  When we turned around this bend in the freeway you could smell the breweries long before you could see them.  This was especially true in the summer in the days before air conditioning. 

As the sun sank in the distance we headed back to the wedding preparations.  Many thoughts were hidden in my heart however.  Images of people now gone are a little more vivid.  There is that sorting and processing of memories, that work of making sense of what was as we move into what is and what will be.  

There is gratitude. Those were hard years peppered with bright spots of joy.