Recently I retired as a full-time mommy. In fact, I’m thinking of donating my crown to the Museum of Natural Hilarity 😉 . Our youngest still occupies a bedroom. But as a working girl and college freshman, she no longer occupies as much of my attention.

So now here I am. Just me. Alone. Tapping on keys without interruption.

Today the silence hangs heavy and my thoughts turn to what’s next. My future, as an eventual empty-nester. Could these be my best years yet?

I’m attracted to a less cluttered, more focused lifestyle.

Simplicity. Minimalism. Mindfulness.

When I type those words, they play across my heart like a piccolo or the sweet tinkling of a wind chime. Trouble is, my soul’s default music station often sounds more like an ominous base drum, followed by an electric guitar solo. Plus occasional cannons.

Now that my services as an officer of the peace in our household are rarely required, my adrenal glands aren’t sure what to do with themselves. The brain rewiring that took place over the last twenty-eight years feels soldered in place.

You too?

By the time our kids have flown the coop, we moms are experts at functioning in chaos. We could frost a cake on a bloody battlefield, and serve it with a dazzling plastic smile. <— Actually, I seem to remember doing that!

As emotional ringleader of our homes, we managed endless crises, negotiated daily conflicts, bandaged and re-bandaged hearts. It was glorious. It was messy. It was the best and hardest job we’ll ever have. And now, at last, we’re in the position we’ve dreamed about, able to reclaim some life margins—maybe even some sanity.

And I think we’re in danger.

Left to myself, I might adopt a pod of Doodle dogs (so cute, right?), cram my social calendar, and say yes to every gleaming ministry opportunity. I could easily default to people pleasing, creating my own chaos just because it’s the pace I’m used to.

Another empty-nester might be tempted to pursue the life of comfort she feels she’s earned. Still another might poke her nose where it’s not welcome: into her adult kids’ lives. Me, I’m mostly Recovering Chaos Girl.

But the truth is, none of these diversions will fill the empties left by our kids’ departure or provide the abundant life God intends.

Mindfulness is one of those buzzwords that seems trendy but is timeless. It must be a good, enduring word; it appears a number of times in both the Old and New Testaments. We can read about how God is mindful of us, and how the Israelites displeased him when they weren’t mindful of his works. Hmm.

If I hope to slow down and live the last third of my life on purpose—God’s purpose—this seems like a pretty good place to start.

“When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?” –Psalm 8:3–4

He’s mindful, seeing me here in the silence of my office. He cares about my yearnings. He adores me, and yearns for me to find my happiness in him. He’s forever patient with me, even when I get things so wrong. Again.

I’m mindful when I remember God’s faithfulness, and when I view and interact with Creation as he does: My eyes see that a thing is good; I treat it with deference and grace. When I’m present and aware and full of wonder, my heart’s naturally drawn to the Creator. Worship happens.

It’s astounding how, in God’s kingdom, the ordinary becomes sacred and the celebrated, meaningless. I may not know what’s next, but I know my current, future, and permanent address—his wonder-full, paradoxical kingdom!

“We catch God suddenly in the thick of our days, disclosures unraveling out of the mundane. Such awareness transforms life from a series of random events to the poetic realm of a sacred tale.” –Sue Monk Kidd

This is where I get to hang out for eternity—enjoying the sacred, ignoring the meaningless. If you’re ever looking for me, this is where I hope you’ll find me.

This afternoon, you’d have found me stuck in unmoving traffic next to a dry, vacant field, nondescript except for a lone aspen tree. The cars ahead of me started to move, but that aspen had called up a flood of memories:

Of seven years ago and a time of family togetherness—all five of us on our Epic Family Road Trip to Alaska. Of cool nights spent under the stars. Of one night in particular, falling asleep to what sounded like a roaring ocean but turned out to be a vast choir of quaking aspens singing in the wind.

But also. . . Of my blissful ignorance that painful new challenges were on my horizon. Of God’s healing that would follow . . . and my growth. Followed by more blessings, alongside more unforeseen challenges. And more growth.

I bet you can testify to the same.

So I’m confident he has plans to grow me—and you!—through this and every season. And since we become what we behold, let’s keep our eyes and our spirits attuned to his beauty. And remain mindful of his mindfulness to us.

How are you filling the void in your home and heart that your kids used to occupy? Do you have a sense where God wants to lead you in this new season? I love reading your comments!

Prayer

Lord, I know you see me here. Quiet is not a bad thing. Calm is good. I don’t need to fill it with white noise and busyness. Here in the stillness, you draw me to you and fill me with your fullness, equipping me to go out and be your representative among Creation. Help me today to distinguish between things of the world and things of the Spirit. And, incidentally, I pray this for my adult kids as well.