A friend of mine has hurt her back, and has needed some help watching her kids off and on. So the other day, I offered to watch her two-year-old. Ruby was napping, so it was just me and my toddler charge going to the park.
Provo right now is resplendent with roses. It’s actually one of my favorite things about this city–that there are rose bushes everywhere, and they are heavy with blooms for a significant part of the summer. They smell wonderful. So as this little girl and I were walking to the park, we passed several rose bushes. And at every single rose bush, the little girl stopped, cupped a large bloom in her hand, and smelled the roses.
Usually idiomatic phrases aren’t placed in front of you quite so literally.
But I’ve been thinking about this little girl with her small hands full of a large rose bloom, taking the time to smell every variety of rose before we passed them by. Right now my life feels very overwhelmed. It’s not that my time is full and busy, but it’s the fact that Kyle’s job search has remained fruitless. It’s overwhelming and terrifying in turns and then all at once. Our lease is up at the end of July and we have no idea what’s going to happen to us. We may move into a temporary place until Kyle can find a job, but I’m really hoping that he’ll have one and that there will be a little bit of stability in our lives. Not having an income is scary. Not knowing what’s going to happen to us in the next couple of months is scary.
And there are no answers. Nobody can assure us with any certainty that there will be a job, a place to move to, or any security. It’s all hope. Hope and faith. Believing that there will be a place, and an income some day. Holding to faith that God will not overlook our little family, but will provide for us.
But as I tread through these trials, life is still here. Still now. And I’ve spent a lot of time hurrying past the metaphorical roses in my life because I’m overwrought with worry. I want real, concrete answers. Faith is harder to hold to than the security of a job and a home. But worrying has brought me nowhere. Floundering and asking people for answers they cannot provide has given no comfort. And so I think of a little girl, cradling a rose in her hands, taking the time to smell what is only here for a little while. This moment in our lives will pass. Some day there will be a job and more security. But there are still things happening now that are worth holding onto, worth taking the time to stop and see. And in the small moments when I have a little clarity and I relish what is here–now–instead of pipe dreams and instead of worrying my heart out, those moments bring me the comfort and grounding that I have been trying to find from questions that have no answers, and worries that have no cure.
If only those moments of clarity were easier to find.