There’s a funny thing about the way my blog is designed.

With this particular template, it separates the first sentence from the body and publishes it in a larger print in a lighter color. It forces me to be meaningful from my very first word, a hook statement that will draw others into my message.

Yet it’s this opening line that often sends potential blog posts to the draft pile, never to be seen by anyone but myself. Sometimes I’ll stare at the screen for 20 minutes trying to think of the right thing to say. It’s one of the reasons I hardly ever write anymore, I don’t usually sit down to write with a heart full of courage.

While I was engaged to be married, one of my young friends lamented that she didn’t know who she would marry, or what her life would look like at my age for that matter (mind you she was 20). She hoped that for just sixty seconds she could see where she would be at 27, what she would be doing – with whom and where.

I laughed and told her it would bring much more confusion than anticipation and probably more fear than hope. Not because her life would be miserable, but simply because it would take 7 years for her to get there, and every season in that time would be important in her journey.

If at 20 I could have seen 29, I would have wondered who the man with the mustache was and how he convinced me to move to Asia. I would wonder why I hadn’t written a book yet or why people didn’t know my name. I swore I’d submit a manuscript before I had a baby, who is this wild child who swallowed my dreams?

My life looks nothing like 20-year-old Rachel dreamed it would as 30 approached. But thankfully, that’s not bad news. Back then I wanted to be famous, and today I know why I can’t be. Back then I wanted to build the Kingdom in my own hungry nation, all by myself.

Yet here I am, drinking tea (not Mountain Dew, thankfully) and writing a few words about the slowness of the season while my son takes his afternoon nap.

But I don’t fear the slowness the same way I used to. 

At times I dread it, of course, but I know that there is a time and a season for all things. And this season is about Travis, Benaiah, and that little coffee shop down the street. Damon Thompson wrote this:

“Spiritual maturity is the consistent application of elementary things.”

Consistency, the oft-unappreciated spiritual discipline. Thank you Lord for giving me the time to learn.

And with that chatter from the little boy’s room, it is time to be a mom again. Same time as yesterday.