A friend met me for a warm drink on a chilly morning. We chatted about our children and our lives. It felt luxurious to recall all the years with little kids when an uninterrupted conversation was as rare as hen's teeth. Now I have the hens, but still no teeth.

She wanted it to be real, so I shared about the rascally years, and the failure. Her face did not flinch or betray that she thought less of me for my flaws. Her questions were poignant, burrowing in to the earthy mess of mothering, and she let me ramble through stories about homeschooling, and being pregnant with twins when my peers were ripening into grandmas. I spoke about the uncertainty of our efforts to plant a church, a child with special needs, and times when John's job was threatened. Yet God held us through it all. 

"I was in with both feet. When the kids were small, I cherished that. When they grew more independent, I enjoyed that too. Sometimes I hear women say with gritted teeth that they are waiting for the children to grow up. Then life will begin. But there is much to savor about all stages. Even now, as six of them are adults, there are blessings."

She smiled. "I once heard that there is no waiting. This moment is what we have, and to look far into the distance is to miss the life in front of us." 

Yes. No waiting. In our banter back and forth I had reflected on times when I longed to live elsewhere, ached to be near family. I wanted a child to potty train faster, or learn to read. I aspired to a wedding, and the delight of sitting in the front row.

Yet in retrospect I see that those wishes came true without being late at all.