Legacy
I've been giving a lot of thought lately to the idea of legacy. My pulse races a little when I think about it, and I get a knot in my stomach. Because a legacy is something we leave behind. My heart aches to think that there will be a goodbye, a "we'll meet again soon," a time when I won't be surrounded by this precious little family. And yet, it's the reality. My time here is limited; my days have been numbered since they began.
And so my thoughts have been turning to the days that come after that number is reached, and to the legacy I will leave behind. I don't know why exactly. My selfish prayer has always been that God would let me tarry here until my children are just a little older. I hope I live long enough for them to remember me. It's selfish, I know. Most of all I hope they live long enough to remember how deeply, how passionately I have loved them. I don't get the chance to choose, and I can't foresee when that day will come. I have no choice, then, but to live each day as though it were that day. To leave nothing unsaid. To leave nothing undone (except, maybe, those lingering piles of laundry...). When God lays something on my heart, I need to be quick to respond; there may not be another chance.
I don't know why I have this sense of urgency suddenly. I've always been afraid that my children would forget. We've had so many adventures together, and I hope--I pray!-- that they'll remember some of them. They have all been intentional. I've taken time to play with them in order to teach them to play, to take joy in the people and the blessings around them. I've taught them to be creative, because creativity will carry them through every kind of challenge. When they learn to look at things differently, they will find solutions that were not obvious at first glance. I've taught them to work through their differences so that they can work well with others, show kindness to strangers, and communicate the love and respect they have for others through the words that they use. I've taught them to lend a helping hand around the house, doing the chores that they are able to do in order to lighten another person's load. I've taught them all of these things intentionally so that they might grow up to be responsible, caring adults. Still, sometimes I wonder if I've taught them enough.
I've been intentional about preserving moments--partly for me, because I never want to forget, but largely for them. They need to know how much I have enjoyed them, how sweet they are at this age, and how deeply their father and I love them. I've written them down, re-told their stories over and over (they always love to hear them). I've shared the times when we have seen God's faithfulness in our lives like some kind of oral history. I want them to remember. I want it to be so ingrained in the fabric of their personal history that they know, simply know. I have been transparent with them about the journey, the process of learning to be more like Christ. They know I have faults. They've seen them. But they know I return again and again to a God who can rid me of them. We've loved each other, and done our best to model a marriage that is a refuge and a source of strength, to show them the kind of love we pray they find someday.
But if today is the day, what will I really leave behind? Books and pages and keepsakes mean nothing if they haven't experienced my love today. My to-do list has been filled to overflowing these past weeks, and my answer to them has consistently been, "Not now," "Just a minute." What if there isn't another minute? Oh, my heart aches to think about it! My prayer lately has been that I would cling to the moments--not because I refuse to let go of them, but because I refuse to let them pass without living them fully. I pray that I would love my family deeply, answer God's call faithfully, and leave in my wake a legacy that builds up, spurs on, and draws their hearts closer to God's own heart.
And so my thoughts have been turning to the days that come after that number is reached, and to the legacy I will leave behind. I don't know why exactly. My selfish prayer has always been that God would let me tarry here until my children are just a little older. I hope I live long enough for them to remember me. It's selfish, I know. Most of all I hope they live long enough to remember how deeply, how passionately I have loved them. I don't get the chance to choose, and I can't foresee when that day will come. I have no choice, then, but to live each day as though it were that day. To leave nothing unsaid. To leave nothing undone (except, maybe, those lingering piles of laundry...). When God lays something on my heart, I need to be quick to respond; there may not be another chance.
I don't know why I have this sense of urgency suddenly. I've always been afraid that my children would forget. We've had so many adventures together, and I hope--I pray!-- that they'll remember some of them. They have all been intentional. I've taken time to play with them in order to teach them to play, to take joy in the people and the blessings around them. I've taught them to be creative, because creativity will carry them through every kind of challenge. When they learn to look at things differently, they will find solutions that were not obvious at first glance. I've taught them to work through their differences so that they can work well with others, show kindness to strangers, and communicate the love and respect they have for others through the words that they use. I've taught them to lend a helping hand around the house, doing the chores that they are able to do in order to lighten another person's load. I've taught them all of these things intentionally so that they might grow up to be responsible, caring adults. Still, sometimes I wonder if I've taught them enough.
I've been intentional about preserving moments--partly for me, because I never want to forget, but largely for them. They need to know how much I have enjoyed them, how sweet they are at this age, and how deeply their father and I love them. I've written them down, re-told their stories over and over (they always love to hear them). I've shared the times when we have seen God's faithfulness in our lives like some kind of oral history. I want them to remember. I want it to be so ingrained in the fabric of their personal history that they know, simply know. I have been transparent with them about the journey, the process of learning to be more like Christ. They know I have faults. They've seen them. But they know I return again and again to a God who can rid me of them. We've loved each other, and done our best to model a marriage that is a refuge and a source of strength, to show them the kind of love we pray they find someday.
But if today is the day, what will I really leave behind? Books and pages and keepsakes mean nothing if they haven't experienced my love today. My to-do list has been filled to overflowing these past weeks, and my answer to them has consistently been, "Not now," "Just a minute." What if there isn't another minute? Oh, my heart aches to think about it! My prayer lately has been that I would cling to the moments--not because I refuse to let go of them, but because I refuse to let them pass without living them fully. I pray that I would love my family deeply, answer God's call faithfully, and leave in my wake a legacy that builds up, spurs on, and draws their hearts closer to God's own heart.
