Change and Love

A rare trip to the store by myself. Missing my little girl since it is evening and I like spending that time of day with my kids, but grateful for the alone time. I’ve been a mom for a full decade now. I am pondering how much I have changed. A full ten years? Really? I was so young, so naïve once. OK, I’m still naïve, but not so young. I say no to things I used to indulge. I am open to things I thought I did not want or like. I eat guacamole now. For years I had myself convinced I didn’t like it and I’m not really sure why. I like to think of myself as a tree that has had the realization that it need not strive so hard for height or stature-that comes naturally with sun and rain. But instead it should put its energy in branching out, growing spectacular leaves, and bearing much fruit. Anyone can reach for the clouds, but it is easy to loose track of what is going on at ground level.
I wish this town had a good radio station. I really miss what I used to listen to. I shuffle through the FM offerings hoping to get lucky. Gentle mandolin licks and soulful strains of the violin reach my ears. I pause. It reminds me of where I just was this week, where my friends are. “America’s real country” he says. I listen to the heartache and feel good story all wrapped together with the twang and acoustic chapter of blue collar life -and I’m unable to stop listening. I want to hear the story for the first time. As I pull into the parking lot I catch myself thinking about how I can get coffee first and then continue my mission. Coffee. Yet another item I had convinced myself I did not like despite thinking the aroma of the beans in the grocery store isle was fantastic. I’m not a purist, I do dress it up a bit. Does this mean I’ve grown up? If I like coffee now? I sweep the thought aside.
Coffee in hand I commence with the browsing and choosing. Now this whole experience would have been so much better if I had had a trash can to dispose of my empty cup once done, but we can’t have it our way all the time. I learned that by age two. Selections made, merchandise paid for, back to the car.
She is singing about the ages and stages of a woman’s life, her babies and husband, how she is changing. I become wrapped up in the tale and wish the chorus was shorter so we could move on to the next verse. Good golly, do I really care so much what happens to this unknown character? She changes and realizes she doesn’t love what she thought she loved, and she is ready to give it all up - the pretense. She is only a year older than I when this happens. I lean forward a bit, turn up the volume. What will she do? Her husband wants to keep her, surely she stays. The song, disappointedly, ends awkwardly with no real outcome. No concise conclusion to what seems a wasted life, or at least wasted time.
I sit back in my seat, sigh. What will I not love in a year? I can’t fathom my children, my husband, my family and friends not being in my heart where they are now. And God, I can’t stand the pain of the thought of giving up on Him.
It’s a song, Charity. A song. Threads of real life woven in make me stop and think. So, I’m grounding myself as I stretch out and sprout new leaves. I’m in a better mood as I walk through the door. The sweet smile in those huge brown eyes as I hand him the new game - it’s a balm. We sit and play, laugh and poke fun. I hope the wounded woman can find this again.