I haven't written in awhile because I felt that I had to have some sort of resolution to the last few months of ramblings. Some sort of lesson learned, some sort of answer to make the journey seem worthwhile. While there is much we have done, there is not much of the core of our life that has changed since we started down this road four long months ago. We still forget about dinner until the last minute, we still get sick of being in the house, our kids still need to be occupied no matter where we go. There are bills that need attention, laundry that needs attention, and a whole mess of chores that never seem to get finished.
What has changed is what I have learned about the everyday, the mindlessly mundane, the tasks that fill up our hours and our life. The ones that rob us of family time, of quality time, of alone-and-hearing-yourself-think time. What it comes down to is this: None of it matters. Not the bills, not the cleaning, not the way I arrange my home or how my kids follow the rules. In a hundred years, I won't be here. In two hundred, there's a good chance my house won't be here. My laundry certainly won't be, thank God. But just because I can't take anything with me doesn't mean I won't leave anything behind. I will leave a legacy of family, a living history of how I loved and how I hurt, of my priorities and utmost importances. How do I want the world I am shaping to speak of me? I want it to speak of love, of patience and consideration; I want it to sing the songs of my soul, and there is no way that it will unless I let the melody finally reach my lips. And right now, I am just trying to find my voice.