Life is harder in the sitting-still-moments.

Those moments when you stop rushing, moving, doing, and have time to think. Time to remember. Time to worry. Time to see the pain in the world around you.

These past two weeks have been a wonderful rollercoaster as I met my new students, set expectations, created new routines, made volcanoes and slime, searched the building for working photocopiers and tucked papers into cubbies. I have been oh-so-busy and become oh-so-tired.

And now it’s Saturday.

I slept late, then got up and toasted a muffin. I opened the curtains, sat down in the sun on the bared floor with the cats, and finally had a moment to sit still and think. And there’s a lot to think about right now.

Like the fact that I’m sitting on the floor. There used to be a rug here. And a table. And chairs. A bookshelf, books, a fireplace… All of my items are packed up in ServiceMaster boxes and piled up in the library and Wyn’s bedroom. It turns out that you really don’t need all of that stuff to survive. But I do kind of miss it.

In early August, I woke up to the sound of water pouring through the smoke detector just outside my bedroom. Half asleep, I grabbed a plastic tote from my closet, dumped its contents out on the floor and stuck it under the waterfall. Then I headed up stairs where I woke up fully at the sight of at least an inch of water covering the kitchen floor and hallway. The sink was full and running over. A panicked early morning call to a friendly plumber encouraged me to empty the kitchen sink and the water drained and dried. ServiceMaster was a very helpful next step. They brought in fans and dehumidifiers, along with their boxes, saws, and other tools of destruction.They also brought in Green Environmental who spent a couple of days removing the asbestos from under my kitchen floors.

Now I’m in the waiting stage - the permits have been applied for. The town inspector will stop by next week to make sure everything is to code, and then (finally!) we can start the $17,000 (insurance covered) rebuild of the damaged floors, walls, and ceiling.

It’s been quite an experience. But it hasn’t been the heaviest thing on my heart this summer.

One of my favorite childhood pictures shows my dad standing in the hospital and holding just-born me in his arms. He’s looking down at me whispering something. He has always told me that he was introducing himself to me. “I’m your daddy,” were the first words he ever said to me. And now, my heart is slowly breaking at the gut-wrenching thought that soon he may not be able to say that to me anymore.

You see, this spring when life is supposed to be becoming new and fresh, my father was diagnosed with vascular dementia and he is slowly losing life-long skills and memories. As a caregiver, I am learning how to be supportive and helpful and picking up some of the tasks he used to do. I did a lot of landscaping this summer - and I learned how to rebuild the arch of rocks he liked to keep by the driveway. This winter I plan to learn how to use the snow blower.

But as a daughter, I just don’t want to be forgotten.

So I’m sitting on the floor in the sunshine, looking out the window at the grass I haven’t mown and the arch that’s still standing, and I whisper up to the Father who will never forget or forsake me, “Abba, I’m trying. I’m doing my best.” And He shouts down with joy into my soul, “Yes, Daughter, you are. And that is Enough.”

So there may still be a few tears in my eyes, and a waterfall in my heart, but there is also Joy and Hope and Patience. And Peace.

Life is harder in the sitting-still moments. But those are the best moments - because that’s when we remember again how much we need an omnipotent and loving God. A Creator Savior Who loves to reach down into our lives and hold our hearts. Who can turn a clogged sink into new flooring. Who is building a mansion for His Good and Faithful Servant, my daddy. Who will sit down on the floor beside me, knowing me.

Life is good. Heaven is better. God is in control.