Lately life has seemed so very slow and so very wild at the same time. It is almost like we have found a way to putter around in a huge foggy cloud of intensity. Lovely summery days, with a background of tons to do. We’ve been doing swimming lessons and getting ear infections. We’ve been trying to clean the house, while magically bombing it out. The children are doing great, growing into new needs, new discipline problems, new hilarious plans and games. I love this life, even if I can’t keep up with it.
Yesterday while I was working on the laundry downstairs, the kids hauled the play table up the stairs, flipped it over, and launched Lina down the stairs riding on it. I think they were all surprised by the speed of her descent, and I was a little surprised that I had not noticed them warming up for this. They were certain that they could control the next ride better. I was certain that there should not be a next ride.
I have had a great many days in a row where I can’t tell what I did at the end of the day. I am pretty sure I did something. I didn’t sit down that I can remember. These are the kind of days when my husband tells me that I was being fruitful, even if it doesn’t look productive. A fruit tree doesn’t move things from an in-basket to an out-basket all day. It is not in the business of ticking off boxes on a to-do list. Sometimes the business of being fruitful is standing in the rain, holding on to your branches in a wind storm, or simply providing shade. Every day is not an apple harvest day. Every day is part of a process, part of a journey towards fruit. Your whole life is part of a fruit bearing work, but today was just a wind storm.