The Journal of an Honest Mom

I was outside with the boys the other day and a storm was rolling in.
And I started thinking about how much time we spend trying to get out of the storms in our lives.
We don’t like the rain. We definitely don’t like the lightning. We don’t like the noise, the uncertainty, or that feeling of not really knowing what’s coming next.
We just want it to pass.
But I live on a farm.
And if there’s one thing living on a farm will teach you, it’s that sometimes you’re begging for that storm.
Sometimes we’ve gone too long without rain. The sun has been beating down day after day, the ground is dry, everything is hot, and you’re watching the sky hoping those clouds actually bring something.
Suddenly the storm doesn’t seem so bad.
You need the rain.
And I couldn’t help but think about how much life is like that.
Sometimes we’re in a storm and all we can see is the storm. We want God to calm it, move it, get us through it, preferably quickly, thank you very much.
But storms bring water.
And water helps things grow.
Sometimes the uncomfortable thing might actually be bringing something I need.
Then there are the droughts.
And honestly, I don’t know that droughts are any easier.
Those seasons where nothing seems to be happening. You’re waiting. And waiting. And maybe praying for something to change.
At least during a storm, something is happening.
A drought can just feel…still.
But that doesn’t mean nothing is growing.
Maybe the roots are getting deeper. Maybe something is happening that I can’t see yet. Maybe I’m just being asked to keep going even though everything around me looks exactly the same.
And then I looked at the trees.
Because apparently I went outside with my children and accidentally turned it into an entire life lesson.
Some of our trees are already changing colors. Others are still completely green.
They’re right beside each other.
Same ground. Same sunshine. Same rain. Same season.
And yet they’re changing at completely different times.
Neither one is doing fall wrong.
One isn’t behind because it’s still green. The other isn’t ahead because it changed first.
They’re just changing when it’s time.
I wonder how often I look at someone else’s life and decide I’m behind because their leaves changed first.
They’re moving forward. They’re getting the thing they’ve prayed for. Something is finally happening for them.
Meanwhile, I’m still green.
But maybe I’m not behind.
Maybe it’s just not my season yet.
I don’t know.
I think I’m learning that I don’t have to understand every season while I’m in it.
Sometimes there’s rain.
Sometimes there’s drought.
Sometimes everything seems to change overnight, and sometimes I feel like I’ve been staring at the same green leaves forever.
But God is still there in all of it.
And growth doesn’t always look like growth while it’s happening.
So maybe I need to stop being quite so afraid of the storms.
And maybe I shouldn’t get quite so discouraged during the droughts.
And I definitely need to stop looking at the tree beside me to figure out whether I’m changing fast enough.
Storm or drought, green leaves or orange ones…
Lord willing, there’s still a harvest.
That feels much more like your journal to me. It’s not “Here are three lessons we can learn from fall!”  It’s just you noticing the farm around you, following the thought wherever it goes, making a little joke at yourself halfway through, and eventually realizing what you were actually thinking about.
And I especially like the imperfect little “I don’t know.” I’d keep things like that. You don’t need to sound certain enough to preach the lesson. You’re writing down something you’re currently learning. That’s what makes it a journal.