~The Reality of Fantasy…

I’m staying with the Marr family again. I’ve been here for three weeks now. Over that, actually. This is my fourth visit in two years. When I first came, there were six little ones and, as of last week, there are now eight Marr youngsters, ages eleven and under.

I always dreamed of being a part of a large family with many siblings close in age. Even as a little girl, I used to imagine I had many more siblings than I did. As I got older, that dream translated to a hoped for future, where I might get to be the mother of large brood of children close in age. Here, I get to see first hand what that dream would look like. I get to see the sibling interaction, the parental interaction, and, when Mama resting after Baby came and Daddy is at work, I get a taste of what it’s like to be in charge of a bunch of little people.

It takes a lot of work to run a house and direct seven children throughout the day. Work of all kinds. Physical work as I make meals, wash laundry, sweep floors, rock a tired child, chase a curious one, bake bread, or clean the kitchen. Mental work as I answer questions about the identity of Andy’s newest lizard pet, Rosy’s school assignment, tell Lizzie a story from my childhood, or explain to Gracie what I think a Scripture verse means. Emotional work as circumstances arise and I find the need to correct or reprove wrong behavior, as I try to continue answering questions even after the subject (in my opinion) has gone beyond beating a dead horse, as I struggle to know exactly how to explain what I believe about something and why, or when, no matter what I do, Philip just can’t seem to help crying unless I’m either holding him or I’m right within his view because he doesn’t feel well and doesn’t know what to do with himself. It takes all kinds of work, in no particular order, throughout the day. Every day.

It wears you out. I go to my room at night, collapse into bed, and fall asleep earlier than I think I should need to. Or I imagine things that I’ll accomplish after supper is over, only to decide that sitting down to read or write is, at least, productive in its way and I can sit while I do it.

The work doesn’t quite ever end. It will keep going much longer than I’ll ever have energy for.

You can plan, but better not plan too strictly. Children can manage to cause approximately sixty distractions, of various kinds and demands, every hour. Which means, that project that I expected to take ten minutes, might take more like an hour and a half. Just getting a cup of coffee or tea made might end up taking all morning.

The last thing I’ve learned though? I love it.

I love these children and I love the experience. Yes, I get exhausted. Yes, I’ve come to a point once or twice where crying seemed preferable to chasing down the baby or trying to get the floor swept or the next meal ready. But I wouldn’t trade the days I get to spend here for almost anything. I love hearing about Andy’s newest discovery, seeing Bekah’s eyes light up when I ask her to help me with a project, getting running hugs from Philip, talking about random things with Rosy, making Ruthie smile, explaining things to Gracie, laughing with Lizzie, or cuddling Susannah. I love singing with them, showing them how to do new things, or reading the Bible while we all try to crowd as many of us as possible onto one couch. I love their cheers of joy over such simple things like when I promise to grill their sandwiches for lunch or tell them the next popsicle flavor I want to try or pull out the next episode of Jonathan Park to listen to. I love watching them work and play and laugh and live together.

Oh, it’s not perfect. That fantasy of childhood and early adulthood has lost some of its rose colored hue. It’s a lot of work and children aren’t perfect. And I’m not even a parent here. I’m more like an older sister. I don’t do all the work, obviously, since their parents do a lot. I’m just a helper. I’m not perfect either. The fantasy now has more of the harsh lines and sharp corners of reality showing, but somehow that just makes it sweeter.

Do I still dream about a family of children some day? The other day, someone commented about me helping out here, and followed it up by asking me how many children I hoped for some day. My answer came rather quickly. Fourteen.

Now, I have no idea what the LORD plans, but, yes, that is still my dream. Even with all the work and weariness and everything else that comes with it. And I know it’s more of everything when you’re the parent. It’s long term and more intense. I know that. I still pray that I’ll get to experience it one day with a family of my own. That someday, my fantasy will become a reality, if it’s His will.

To the KING be all the glory!