Winter Doldrums

Here we are, pushing our way into February. I don't know about you, but we are feeling weary around here. Kids are finding it difficult to hold the course in school. I'm finding the daily meal responsibility, teaching writing in our co-op, scheduling Ben's school, creating the curriculum I was so excited to write in the fall, all beginning to feel stale. Even burdensome. Walt and I are challenged in our parenting. He is overwhelmed by work. A friend received some disappointing news. Each day seems harder and harder to start.

These algebra books, my bible, and a couple dish towels leftover from yesterday's laundry alongside my computer.

This is our island at the moment: cold medicine, chocolate milk and macaroni and cheese

Don't even ask me how I feel about the after-school and evening activities that must be coordinated. How do we get three kids to different places with only one vehicle? (Thankful for friends who live closeby!) Are you going to play in the pep band for the basketball game night? Where are you going and with whom? You want to try out a new barn? Sure, I'll stand out in a cold barn for a couple of hours so you can work with a new trainer and ride your favorite animal around an arena. Actually, except for the cold feet, it was fun to watch her direct a horse she barely knows to trot, canter, turn, trot, walk, all at the press of a thigh or position of her seat. Yes, I know the season of watching her ride isn't forever, and it was worth it last night. Yet, now that I've signed the waivers and met the trainer, I'll gladly release that responsibility to my driving teen and give myself a fighting chance at night to get through dinner prep, bagging lunches, cleanup and laundry before exhaustion sets in.

Despite the busyness of having teens, I've come to realize that what I struggle with at this time of year is winter. I grew up in Wisconsin where, even though it often was bitterly cold, the snow was fresh and the sky could get blindingly blue. In Seattle, we experience different shades of gray. The unraked leaves and barren branches outside my kitchen window sure could use a fresh covering of snow.

My unfiltered view of the backyard today

When the darkness closes in, which happens early this far north, all I want to do is stay home. In this season of sogginess, I want to curl up with a book, my favorite mug and enter into someone else's world. Somewhere where it is sunny.

Now that we are into February and the daylight creeps past 5 o'clock, some of the burden is lifted from my day. I no longer need to squeeze in my daily walk by 3 o'clock or risk returning in darkness. I can take the kids to an after-dinner activity with a bit of light hovering in my memory. Since I've lived in this area as long as I have, I should remember how I feel every the winter. Maybe the extra long days in summer, or the sweet fragrances of spring cause a bit of amnesia to set in every November. It's can't be that hard, I try to reconcile as the days get shorter and my activity list inevitably grows longer.

On top of this, the other day I started getting nervous about something. I couldn't put my finger on this increasing worry until I realized that I have passed the four month point since my last cancer screening. Since 2013 when I finished with active treatment, I visited the doctor at least every four months. I sat in waiting rooms, wondering if this time the blood test would reveal something scary. I obsessed about cancer until I heard the words, "Your mammogram looks fine," once again.

I don't have my next appointment until the end of April. Other than trying to lose a few pounds that have creeped up during the holidays, I should be able to forget about cancer. To be honest, I can't entirely. I hear of another person I know or know of who has been diagnosed. I feel an ache in my head or a limb and wonder, could it be cancer? Of course, the pain goes away and I forget about it again, until something pulls my thoughts into the scary arena once more.

While the possibility of cancer's return diminishes the longer I am from diagnosis, the thoughts still hover. I'll never be 100% safe from cancer's return. The dreariness of winter reminds me of that.

If I'm truly honest, I know spring is around the corner. The days will be longer. My walks will be refreshing instead of enduring. Hope will return. Reality intertwined with optimism. Yes, cancer might return, but I have today. Today I'm healthy. Today is mine to enjoy. The end of school is on the horizon. I've survived another winter.

Until then, I'll remember to enjoy the small moments of light in the cloud-covered skies. I'll enjoy watching Ben work out a tough algebra problem, proud that he's overcome some of his winter doldrums, too. I'll enjoy hearing what the kids talked about at youth group, despite navigating the dark and rainy streets home. I will appreciate the chatter about the school day, even if undoubtedly something needed will will be added to my to-do list. I'll realize that today I'm healthy. Sometimes achy. Sometimes I make poor food choices. Sometimes I worry too much instead of pray. But, I'm here. I have this moment. I can lean into God a bit more.

Spring will come. As I read in Psalm 38 this morning, "But, for you, O LORD, do I wait." In my strength, I see darkness and rain. When I add God to the equation, I see joy and hope.

Yesterday, Psalm 37 reminds me, "Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him."

Spring will come!

Enjoying a hike last spring