My life is not what I thought it would be, yet somehow it will become what it’s supposed to be.
This I keep telling myself, hoping at some point the thought will stick.
Be thankful for what’s here, what’s now, what is right in front of me at this very moment. There are so many things to be thankful for, so many blessings showered down around me.
So how do I stay present here with them? How do I live for today, stay out of yesterday, and stop peeking into tomorrow?
There is all of this life in me just bursting to spring forth, all of these dreams in me that are pushing up—like dough rising pushes up through the cellophane covering the bowl—growing, pushing, expanding, needing space for something more.
Yet my life can only be lived within the bounds of today. Within the four-walls of this house we’re making into a home. Within the empty bedrooms we thought we would be filling with mischievous giggles and late night whispers between children we were sure would come.
There is a grand and amazing future out there, just waiting to unfold when we reach its doorstep.
Yet today, I must stay in today. Today I must pack up the tiny people clothes, put a pretty ribbon on top, and take them to the baby shower of another who is already living in that tomorrow.
Maybe someday, in my today, they will come back to me. Until then I must stay here—knowing that life is not what I thought it would be, yet somehow it will become what it’s supposed to be.