There’s an empty nest at my house, literally. Most days I don’t even notice it. But when I do, it reminds me that seasons change, growing something different than the last season did.
In the spring, a mama duck found our garden to be a cozy refuge and place to tend the life growing in her care. It warmed my heart to find her there, in the most nourishing place I knew, where fortifying meals and fireside conversations grew, feeding my own young, body and soul. She sat on her nest, protecting her eggs, through rain, shine, and snow, and even a shower of garden detritus (which is how I discovered her there, hidden in plain sight). She often looked miserable, bearing the weather so her developing ducklings could stay safe and warm and dry. Still, she stayed put for weeks, camouflaged body blending in with her stick nest.
And then one day, she was gone. A dud egg or two remained, along with what remained of the hatchlings’ shells. Her nest, having served its purpose, was abandoned, and the dud eggs were soon claimed by unseen others, no doubt thrilled with their fortune. The nest, now empty, reverted to a pile of garden waste as it had been before. Lazy gardener that I am, it is still there, taking up space in the raspberry bed and somewhere in the dark depths of my cavernous to-do list.
In the meantime, though the duck, duckling, and all signs of life moved on from that corner of the garden, Life did not. The seeds reached their green limbs toward the sun, awakening from their slumber, marking the transition to early summer. Here at the end of summer, that nest still sits empty but the garden is full of life. Flax and garlic have been harvested, cucumbers and tomatoes are ripening by the day, basil and sage still offering their leaves for the goodness and comfort of others. The garden is brimming with life, literally spilling over the edges of the garden boxes. The seeds that fell into the rocks in previous seasons have taken root as cosmos and bachelor’s buttons and flax that hum along with the song that the whole garden sings: this world was made for Life.
And so, even in the season of an empty nest, we find life all around us. The two most common questions we’ve been getting this month are: “How is Eliana doing at college?” followed by “How are you doing?” And the answer I find myself giving is that it is clear that she is exactly where she is supposed to be, and we are doing well. This transition has been such a season of grace. Often, when we miss someone what we are really feeling is: I wish they were here. But I don’t; what I want is for her to be where she’s supposed to be, and that has alleviated any of that “missing her” feeling.
I anticipated that it would really hit home when we came home to an empty house. Instead, what I found is that, in the same ways that God prepared the way for her there*, He prepared the way for us here. Our house felt like home when we stepped back into it, because it wasn’t really the house that was home, but the One who held us in it. She, and we, are still held by the same hands that have always held us — our true Home.
So, there’s an empty nest at my house. Most days I don’t even notice it. But when I do, it reminds me that seasons change, and this one is growing something different in me than the last season did.
*My heart holds so many stories of the ways God prepared belonging for her from the moment she stepped onto campus in Texas. I am overwhelmed by the goodness of it.
Poems: from the season
Coming Home
The emptiness felt like home
when we walked in,
welcoming arms enfolding
familiar spaces,
dark, but clean,
as if to say that all of this
had been prepared
for us, too,
by One who is
our true Home.
Empty Nest
No one told me
that sending a child,
an only child,
my only child
off to college
was preparing for birth
A new life --
No, two --
on the horizon.
I didn't know that I'd be
washing sheets
and buying clothes
and rearranging furniture
like I did when I was pregnant
That the emptiness
invites nesting, too,
and this burgeoning hope protrudes --
not out in front, making space in the world
for what is to come, but inward --
It presses in, making a womb
of the wound from this umbilicus,
cut.
Now we are two.
There is spaciousness
to this season,
decades of love carved out,
filled up, spilled out
across state lines
and I am larger and softer for it.
Having birthed and released
this one precious life,
I now hold them all
more dear.
This nest may be empty,
but my heart is fuller
than it's ever been before.
Perhaps you noticed a poem growing in the words above, set apart in bold. As I read over what I’d written, I found this poem woven within:
Empty Nest; Growing Garden
There’s an empty nest at my house,
seasons change;
In the spring,
in the most nourishing place I knew,
fireside conversations grew,
feeding my own body and soul.
And then one day, she was gone.
Somewhere in the dark depths
seeds reached their green limbs toward the sun
for the goodness and comfort of others.
The whole garden sings:
this world was made for Life.
What’s Working Right Now
There is some amount of everything-is-in-flux right now. I think particularly in seasons of transition (which are, also seasons of disruption), it’s good for me to remember that not *everything* is an unknown, even if it often feels like it. So, here are some things that are working for me right now in this season of transition.
Talking to my neighbors. Oddly enough, there has been a significant uptick in the number of times I’ve visited with my neighbors, and the number of neighbors I’ve gotten to know in just the last few weeks. It’s one of the ways I feel like this place, and my call to rootedness in it, has been prepared for me.
Making my bed. It’s not exciting, but it only takes a few moments and it has a surprisingly calming effect on me to walk into my room when the bed is made. It feels like even if everything else is spinning out of control, there is at least one tiny corner of order in the chaos.
Doing the dishes. For years Leif and Eliana have done the dishes at our house. I make the dishes, he loads them into the dishwasher, she puts them away. With just the two of us now, I’m finding a comfortable rhythm to loading the dishes after dinner or throughout the day, and unloading them in the morning. It feels like a small way to weave order and calm into my days that otherwise don’t have a whole lot of structure right now.
Physical Therapy. This list is just full of excitement, isn’t it?! Apparently mundane routine is what’s working for me right now. I’m in the middle of a 6 week course of PT to address some pain in my back and hip that aren’t caused by the RA. I’m really thankful for exercises that address the pain and provide me with some agency in doing something about it when I notice that something is off, as well as direction for what needs to be strengthened.
Being there for others. I didn’t realize that with Eliana needing less of me on a daily basis in this season, I would be freer to be there for others. This week alone I’ve been able to be present to at least five people, not because they needed answers, just to be present with them as they wrestle with questions.
Spiritual Direction. Speaking of people who are present as we wrestle with questions, Spiritual Direction is still one of the things that is working for me, a rhythm that I am so thankful for. Though I meet with my Spiritual Director just once a month, that time often reframes my perspective on where I’ve been walking and what it looks like to walk on from here.
Are there particular things that are working for you in this season? What is this season for you?
I’ve been thinking of you and Lief a lot and praying for you in this new season. This is so encouraging to read—we didn’t have an empty nest when Clare went off to college last year, but we had a similar experience with adjusting to the distance—and great thankfulness for the people who took her in and friends she made. I’m so thankful for Eliana this year and the chance to get to know her, and that she has filled a friend-space that Clare was missing from her friends from last year!
I am 💯 with you on making the bed daily; it does give a calm moment amidst the chaos of our days at times. I am still very much needed by my three kids, albeit they are 20, 20, and 17. With their chronic medical/mental health issues, life at this stage looks very different for me than it does for my peers. So, for me, it’s not as spacious, and as one who loves to be out and about and involved in all the things, I am learning STILL to remain faithful to the long road. I am having to tell myself once again to not look to the left and right at what others in my stage of life are free to do and experience but to stay my course, run in my lane.