a case for procrastination

In general, procrastination tends to get a bad rap.  The putting off until "a better time," the "getting to it eventually," the "I'll wait until I can do it really well."  These are phrases that you might hear your perfectionistic child say.  Or words that your rather, um, lackadaisical kid might utter.  Or, perhaps, they are phrases that echo right in your very own head.

And so it is with me.  I have been a list-maker for as long as I can remember.  I carry around my hopeful string of "to-do's" and find myself at the end of the day (week, month…) with only a handful of those items dutifully checked off.  I've yet to figure out if this is in fact a result of being overly optimistic about just how much I can accomplish each day, or disorganization/easy distractibility on my part, or plain old laziness.  Regardless, it is part of my character, and while I don't so much chastise myself about it anymore, I am aware of my tendency to "put off until a better time" those things that perhaps should be done in a more timely fashion.

I should note here that while I am a procrastinator by nature, life has kept my plate fairly full for the last little bit.  I wasn't going to bring up the detail about moving a family of 6 five times in the past 2.5 years, but I decided that it's probably a detail worth mentioning.
 
So now, as my children sleep upstairs and my husband finishes up work several states away before joining us here, I am sitting in our new rental home, surrounded by half-opened cardboard boxes, partly-filled cabinets, haphazardly-placed furniture, and rediscovered toys strewn about…and I write.  Because while that may look like procrastinating to some, it is just goodness, plain and simple, for me.

Because as I reflect, I find myself blown away, yet again, by God's goodness.  After a year (or more) of a lot of discomfort, disappointments, darkness, and seemingly dashed dreams, these past several months have brought me the gift of so much light and renewed hope, and gratitude like I just can't describe.  We have, after those 2.5 years and all those moves, made our way back home––to the place that holds a community and support and opportunities and sense of belonging like no other.  I find myself still awed by the journey that we had to take to finally make our way back here, and I am grateful for all of it, even the hard stuff.

So, back to procrastination (hello, distractibility!).  I've known that we were heading back here since early March.  We secured this rental home in early May.  I chose this location primarily so that our Caroline could be part of the phenomenal elementary school community that Joshua and Madison had enjoyed, thrived in, and loved during our time here a few years ago.  I knew that the older kids' middle school assignment would be okay––not bad, but not terribly remarkable––and I was okay with that.  That year of homeschooling reassured me that these kiddos make the most of every experience, and I trusted that they would do just fine.  And so I gathered all the paperwork for both schools last month when we were in town, and put them in a very safe place so that I could work on them and get our kids enrolled and ready for the new school year.  And that paperwork has remained in that same very safe place for the last several weeks.  Untouched.  Unopened.  Waiting to be filled out "when I had the time."

Admittedly, these last weeks of summer have been even busier than usual.  This last month alone has seen us packing up and moving all of our worldly possessions here to Greenville, driving down for a visit to Chris' parents in south Georgia, driving even further down for a wedding/family reunion in Fort Myers, FL, then a return to Louisiana for Chris' work, a board exam for me, several goodbyes to friends in Baton Rouge, and a return here for the real unpacking and settling down.  So, honestly,  not really so much time to tackle several pages of paperwork and dig up immunization records, birth certificates, proof of residency, etc.  Right?

So anyway.  Once we got the very basics in place here at home (kitchen is functional, everybody has a bed to sleep in), and I finally sat down to complete (okay, start) the enrollment forms, I received a phone call.  As in, literally, I was filling out page 1 of 13, and the phone rang.  The extraordinary school for gifted and talented students in town, a public school that I have heard so much about, called to say that Madison was invited to join the 6th grade class this fall.  She had been wait-listed back in 2nd grade, and I had declined the invitation at that time because we were leaving the state, but (half-jokingly, but more than half-hopefully) asked that she remain on the wait list just in case we eventually made our way back here.  And I honestly had forgotten about it until this spring when we learned that we would, in fact, be returning.  When I called the school then, I was told that she remained on the waiting list and was at #3…and later in the spring she was #2…and a few weeks ago she was still at #2.

And then, on Wednesday of this week, she was in.  Just like that.  A student had moved away, a spot opened up, it was available for her.  Amazing.

When I told her the news, her big beautiful brown eyes opened wide and she jumped up and down.  She hugged me tight, wanted all the details, and rejoiced like she had just won the lottery.  

But wait.  There's more.

As I was speaking with the admissions lady, I shared with her that I was just sitting down to fill out paperwork to enroll both of my middle schoolers in the neighborhood school when she called.  When she inquired about my other middle schooler, I assured her that he was not eligible for admission because we didn't live here in his 2nd grade year, so he obviously hadn't taken the standardized test that they use as criteria for inviting children to the school.  Silly admissions lady––of course I would have inquired about getting Joshua in if he had taken that exam.

Silly me.  Turns out, according to admissions lady, that they do in fact look at scores from later grades, and she did in fact have Joshua's scores from 5th grade right in front of her, and they do in fact have a spot open for an 8th grader.  And so now, inconceivable as it still seems, they are both getting the tremendous opportunity to attend this exceptional school.

And I find myself face-to-face with yet another (another!) experience in which I can do nothing more than stand, sit, kneel, weep in amazement at God's goodness.  His unbelievable, unpredictable, unfathomably perfect timing.

Not because this is the best school in the nation, or even in the city.  But because it feels like the best opportunity and fit and gift for these kids, right here, right now.

It feels like––it is––grace upon grace upon inexpressible grace.

God's perfect timing.  That phrase, that idea, sometimes seems trite, like just another cliche.  That is, until you stand in the light of that timing.  And trust it.  And lean into it.

My husband's key verse through this tumultuous past year: Trust in God, and lean not unto your own understanding.

My understanding is so very limited.  So. Very.  Limited.  Oh, that I could have the eyes to see that truth all the time, and that I would finally learn, once and for all, that trusting is the wise choice, that the self-starter in me must let go, and that leaning on Him is really, truly, where it's at.

Somehow, in His timing, ALL things work together for good.  All the things…they eventually work together.  Thank you, God.

And so, as it turns out, it was good that I hadn't trudged through that mountain of paperwork after all.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart
    and lean not on your own understanding

Proverbs 3:5