December in boxes

"For I the LORD do not change; therefore you, O children of Jacob, are not consumed." ~Malachi 3:8 

As the temperature drops outside, I sit in surroundings unlike any I have experienced before. The living room has boxes, areas of exposed subflooring and new walls. The Kitchen has no upper cupboards, exposing paint colors and wallpaper of decades gone by. A new pantry has encroached upon the family room, as have an endless array of doors, brackets, and panels; all awaiting their counterparts’ arrival to complete the new kitchen. The tell-tale signs of a remodel are visible everywhere, but some seemingly insignificant changes have been the most striking to me.

I spent years stepping over Legos, plastic army guys and countless socks… now I usually just see Wyatt’s Burger King hat and Alan jr.’s mail pile. An unopened box of gelt sits in my new pantry, as everyone (mama included) was working too much for Dreidel this year. My mother in law’s dining room table, which I sat at for 26 Christmases, now sits in my constantly evolving dining room. Alexa plays a podcast in the background, drowning out the ever-increasing quiet. How do I feel about my current life? Depends on the moment …

I currently have no idea where any holiday decorations are. I celebrated all 8 nights of Hanukkah singing the blessing over birthday candles poked in an egg carton. A single evergreen candy cane arrangement rests on the wall. So many things are catawampus in Munson manor, and honestly, it’s hard to find the energy to force December into view this year. It’s cluttered. It’s confusing. It’s lonely.

                Much of my life’s course, like my decorations, 7 backordered panels (and, for some reason, my muffin tin) has yet to reveal itself. Rather appropriately, I find myself this Advent season to be waiting for everything from dishwashers to decision-making skills. How do I share our family traditions, but leave space for new ones? How do we prioritize life after kids, while still being there when our grown sons need us? How do I love and care for my beautiful daughter-in-law without my mother-in-law to show me how, as she did almost all my married life? How do I assist my dear mama as she gets older, without bossily stepping on her matriarchal toes? These are answers I won’t ever find within the confines of a buried Rubbermaid container …

Stumbling through this unfamiliar terrain (both literally and figuratively), I sometimes forget that I never have to struggle through life in my own strength. The God who I cried out to in nights of sleep deprivation and postpartum depression comforts me still, as I sing the blessing over a makeshift Menorah alone. The God who helped me to trust that I could be responsible for two little lives will guide me as I discern when to offer advice and when to step back and let my sons find their way. The God who protected my marriage when two exhausted new parents had nothing left to give is with us still as we usher in an exciting, albeit unfamiliar, second quarter of life together. The God who comforts us as we grieve the losses in our family has also brought great joy through new family members. Clinging tightly to an unchanging God, I can safely navigate the endless changes that come my way—boxes and all.