When our brood was small, John's brother came to visit. Of all their relatives, he was their most beloved. He came every year, taking them to the beach, and Disneyland. One time, as he was preparing to leave, I asked for feedback. 

 

"You have watched our family for a week. Tell me, do you have any advice?"

 

There was a long pause. Perhaps I had asked too much. He had witnessed the chaos, the clamor, the sleepy heads on his shoulder, and bickering. And yet he kept coming back. Finally, he spoke. 

 

"I notice that when the kids are in the house, you want them to go out to play. And when they are outside playing, you wonder how they are and want them to come in."

 

An interesting observation. Plus, I have not forgotten it, though he probably has. 

 

This tendency to have opinions about my life shows up in other ways. When life is overwhelming, I wonder why it won't let up. 

 

"Really, God? Twins and a special needs son? Are you trying to break me?"

 

Then when things are calm, I wonder if it means that I am not trying enough. 

 

"The kids are all independent now. They pay for dinner when we go out, and give bigger gifts than I do. They don't need me."

 

Maybe I could be more like the birds outside my window. I notice that when it is warm, they sing. When it is winter, they sing. They seem to accept the seasons without adding commentary.