Family – Page 2 – sethlewis.ie

How To Avoid A Midlife Crisis (an open letter to twenty-somethings)

Dear young adult,

I know you’re not thinking about having a midlife crisis right now. I know the concept feels far away and foreign, the domain of grumpy gen-Xers and geriatric millennials who drink too much coffee and still complain about being tired all the time. I know you’re probably tired of people telling you to enjoy your stage of life because it all goes so fast. You might not believe me, but the reason almost everyone says this when they reach a certain age is because stages of life actually do go quickly. In fact I can prophecy with confidence that you’ll be saying the something similar in about twenty years time, to the tolerant nods of your juniors. Twenty years probably feels like an eternity to you right now. I get it. But eventually the speed of life catches up with you like a marathon runner who loses sight of the starting line and suddenly realises that the impossibly-distant finish line is actually real and not so distant after all. The difference is that a marathon runner wants to reach the finish line, whereas in life most people don’t. Thus, the midlife crisis. And apparently, I’m due for one. I’ve slept through enough nights and celebrated enough birthdays to qualify for such things, even though no one can tell me what the true mid-point of my life is with any degree of certainty. The specifics don’t matter. My life is clearly passing by, and I’ve reached the stage where this fact can no longer be hidden or ignored. This is the driving force of the midlife crisis—the sudden intrusion of truths we like to push away for as long as possible. At some point they come in anyway, and make themselves at home.

Wanting What I Already Have

There are strings of lights and stacks of chocolates growing in the shops, and the annual question is already hanging in the air: what do you want for Christmas? Mind you, the answer is meant to be something that fits neatly inside of wrapping paper, under a tree or in a stocking. ’Tis the season to assess what we all have and (more specifically) don’t have so that we can give each other good gifts that are actually wanted. I’m all for it. Social pressure to think about other people’s desires and happiness is a good thing, and if other people are thinking about my desires as well, that’s not bad. But as we all think hard about what everyone wants and doesn’t have yet, I’d like us to pause for a moment and remember a truth that can easily get lost in the flurry of festivities: it is possible to want what you already have.

The Leak (a poem)

Today I have a poem for you that is inspired by true events in our home. We recently discovered that a slow leak behind the shower had done enormous damage inside our bathroom walls without us realising it. As I considered what had happened I noticed a connection between our home and our hearts. That’s what this poem is about.

The Leak

Silently
the water creeps
behind the tidy
tiles, seeps
into the wood
and insulation
slow and patient
devastation
working hidden
in the dark
drip

drip

A Personal Update (With A Book Update, Too)

I woke up the other day thinking about the list of normal things I was going to do that day, which is not unusual. But it struck me that I’ve been waking up like that for years and years, and the list of normal things I’ve thought about has changed dramatically. For example, recently I’ve been taking our oldest child out to practice driving. This is normal now, but it wasn’t a year ago, and it’s a sign that our family is entering another new and different kind of normal. Next year our youngest will join her brothers in secondary school and our normal will change again.

Beyond Measure

When we speak about blessings, we usually speak about the good things we enjoy, like family, friends, a nice holiday, or a great coffee. These are wonderful blessings, worth counting, and giving thanks for. And yet I was reminded recently (through a prayer of thanks offered by a friend) that when the Bible speaks of blessings, the language it uses is often far more extreme than the language we’re accustomed to using ourselves. Paul tells us that “no human mind has conceived” the greatness of “the things God has prepared for those who love him“ (1 Corinthians 2:9). In other words, God’s blessings for his children are literally off the charts, stretching beyond the borders of imagination. “My cup overflows”, says David, in Psalm 23, and in Psalm 16 he speaks of how,

“You make known to me the path of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence,
with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”

The Picture Books We Couldn’t Part With

Our children are not really children anymore. It’s been a long time since we read picture book stories to them. But if you look at our bookcases at home, you’ll see that our family still has picture books. We didn’t save most of them—bookcase space is too precious for that—but there are also some picture books that are too precious to part with. Books that were read too many times, that became too much a part of us and our family history together to think of letting go. We had a conversation over dinner recently about the picture books we all remember and love the most, and I thought some of you might like to hear what we came up with. This list represents many hours of read-aloud story times in the Lewis home, times that continue to live on as treasured memories for all of us. So if you have little ones at home, or nephews or nieces or grandchildren or friends with smallies, you might enjoy these, as well. Here’s our list:

Tree House (a poem)

Tomorrow, my wife Jessica and I celebrate twenty years of marriage. Two decades sounds like a lot to me, but—doesn’t everyone say this?—it seems like it’s gone quickly. When we first got married, I wrote a poem for Jessica about how our love was in Spring, and I didn’t know what seasons would come, but with God’s help we would keep growing through them all. Twenty years—and many different seasons—later we’ve made our home in this growing love. That’s what this poem is about:

Slow Happiness

As I look out the window at the sunshine on my garden, I remember the many days that I saw the same view differently—when the glass was streaked with rain, when the ground was hard with frost, and the plants that are budding and growing so beautifully today were nothing but tiny seeds or bare sticks. It all changed so slowly, but it changed so much. And as good as it looks today, I know that there are even better things ahead—the apple blossoms will ripen into apples, the rose stems will bloom with their own unique colours and fill the air with their intoxicating aromas, there will be blueberries and strawberries and maybe this year we’ll finally get some grapes from the grape vine, now that it’s more established. It takes time, establishing. Our blueberry bushes give us a lot more now than they used to, and the apple tree is a little bigger every year. Life is like that, too, isn’t it?

Normal Life

The Monday after Easter Sunday is a bank holiday in Ireland, so I slept in. That may not seem very remarkable to you, but I remember when it was impossible. I remember when our children were small, and always woke up at the crack of dawn with bright eyes and boundless energy, ready for me to be the bad guy they could fight or the jungle gym they could climb or the narrator for their books. I remember before those mornings, back to the seemingly endless nights when they fit easily in my arms and I walked countless miles back and forth in their little bedrooms and put them down so gently and carefully and their eyes popped open and we started walking all over again. It didn’t seem possible at the time, but those endless nights ended. Sleeping through the whole night is normal for me now, and when a bank holiday comes, I can stay in bed even longer if I want to. When did that happen?

Tea And The Sous-Chef (two poems)

It was my wife Jessica’s birthday yesterday, and these two poems are in honour of her and the many ordinary moments we share together.

Tea

Do you want a cuppa tea?
She said to me
And I said yes—
Because
I always want a tea
If she is drinking it
With me

The Sous-Chef

Jessica works magic
With the chicken
On the hob
While I stand by
And peel the spuds
Because that is a job
That requires little magic
But I like to be
Nearby
In proximity to her
I think that any job will do—
Being with her is the magic,
So now you can call me Sous