Somewhere in the middle

I go from one extreme to the other, one day to the next.  Either I'm wanting time to move faster, or I'm screaming for it to stop and slow down.  I guess you could say it's quite an awkward period of life.  Some days I wish I could find a comfortable spot somewhere in the middle.

Waiting through every step of the adoption is hard.  Emotionally, psychologically, mentally, spiritually hard.  There are so many "hurry up and wait" instances, that each time you're told there's one more thing to wait on actually ends up stealing so much of the joyful anticipation of finally bringing things to completion.  I'm so grateful for the four days we had with our son last summer--God knew we would need them as reminders to keep pushing through this never-ending maze.  God also knew that I needed to see how He had preserved our relationship with "Juan" over the three years of silence, showing us that our relationship will still be just as strong after yet another year of waiting.  I sure do miss him, though.  In this case, I wish time would move a little more quickly.

Then I'm reminded that David is about to begin the last month of his elementary school years.  We're nearing the end of our rides to school together every morning and our afternoons in my classroom after school gets out.  I cherish our morning conversations, singing Christian music together in the car, our deep theological talks, and blowing kisses to each other when he gets out of the car.  He loves school, and he loves his teacher.  I want us to savor every moment before the year ends.  I want time to slow down.

Yet after he gets out of the car and I get to my school, I'm reminded immediately of what a challenging year this has been.  Some years life gives you a class full of children who are eager to learn, eager to please.  Other years  bring you a class full of more issues than you're prepared to deal with.  I love each and every one of my kids, but they sure are difficult to teach as a whole.  The kind of challenge that starts the moment they walk into your door on the first day and doesn't end until they walk out your door on the last day.  That's the year I've had.  I'm sure my own emotional availability has played a part in that, as well.  But it's one of those years that I'm ready to pack things up and close the door.   I won't object to the next few weeks just breezing by.

Of course, that leaves me in a panic when I look at the calendar and see just how much needs to get done in such a short amount of time.  Is the extra bedroom ready?  Am I ready to spend several more weeks in Colombia?  Are my kids ready to move on to the next grade level?  Have we reviewed all the concepts they absolutely have to know? Am I caught up on all the end of year paperwork?  Have I let my students know, individually, that they are loved?  Have I made the impression upon each one that I was supposed to? I am running out of time that I can't ever get back.  Am I using each moment to the fullest or letting it slip by me, wasted?

Back and forth, from one extreme to the other.  Wishing time would fly.  Begging time to stop.  Somewhere in the middle would be nice.