Life in Ireland

Thursday, Jan. 30, 2025

Don’t ask me the right question at the wrong time.

Sunday, February 2, 2025 

Groundhog Day

I think I'm starting to understand why people believe in reincarnation. When someone you love is maybe close to death you naturally start to examine your own life. What if this is all the time I get? What if I never do all the things I wanted or expected to do. After dropping a sister at the airport I was listening to a book to keep my mind busy. I was suddenly completely overwhelmed with sadness that I will never live in Ireland. Could I move there right now? Would I find something there that I don't have here? Or would it just be a different location with the same thoughts and experiences…?

Later:

Laura said “you are the only one who can do this for me Emily. God told me you need to do it. 

Just a few weeks ago I was thinking about my life. What am I doing with my life? What should I do? Am I messing it all up? My kids are my biggest “job” right now. But I question on a twice daily basis if I’m messing up Lincoln by homeschooling him. Am I messing up Gray? Did I already completely blow it with the oldest three? 

Either way I wonder what else, and what next at this time when my life seems almost empty of children with only three left at home, only two who need me and only one who still craves my constant attention. And I love that and honor that but I know it’s fleeting. And so again: What am I doing now? What do I do next?

So I prayed and asked God, to tell me, and I always use qualifiers like “Tell me loudly!” Or “Tell me so I really hear!!” Tell me…what should I do and where should I put my time. When Linc is at the home school co-op, or at night, or when I’m not actively teaching him…where should I be putting my time and attention and talents?

”Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”

I was hoping God would tell me. And then my sister got sick. And she woke up post surgery and told me she needed me for a job. And it’s no exaggeration for me to say that never in the history of the universe has my sister Laura ever told me she needs me for anything. She is too competent. Too independent. Too self sufficient. And yet now she needs me. She has so many ideas and I can’t execute them fast enough to satisfy her. And I keep thinking about the line from the song in Hamilton “Why do you write like you’re running out of time…?” And I worry that she’s running out of time. She can’t run out of time.