The sky was a brilliant blue streaked with wisps of white. As we walked through the forest, red and gold leaves gently fell around us.
“Look at that!” my daughter said, pointing to an old log. “It’s beautiful!”
The log was rotting and covered in fungus. We stooped low to examine it.
“Did you know that fungus helps break down the wood and turn it back into soil?” I remarked. “The soil is filled with nutrients, which gives the new trees good food so that they can grow tall and strong.”
“That is so cool!” My daughter’s enthusiasm makes me smile.
I love wandering through the woods with my girls—exploring new trails, watching the chipmunks and squirrels scurry around, and stopping to exclaim over the little details of nature. Those moments are precious.
I wish so much that I could provide them with real adventures. The opportunity to travel and see the world. The opportunity to experience other climates and cultures. The chance to splash their feet in the ocean or climb the Eiffel Tower or watch fishermen on the Yangtze River.
So many dreams.
I have friends who have done some of those things—with their kids in tow. And I can’t help but feel a twinge of envy. It’s human nature to never be satisfied with your lot in life.
Right now, we need to scrimp and save so that my husband can get through college and I can be home with the girls. Is it always easy? No. But the greatest lesson that I can teach my children has nothing to do with having the nicest things or being able to travel the world.
It’s the ability to rest happily in the knowledge that, in this moment, God has us exactly where we need to be.
My contentment is a gift to my family. My children will not grow tall and strong in the soil of my discontent. My children will grow tall and strong in the soil of my surrender.