I am overwhelmed right now. I am in charge of our church’s Harvest Fair. Preparations began in June and I will not emerge from underneath the pile until sometime late Wednesday night. I have many, many people helping me, encouraging me, working for me, yet I am still overwhelmed.

My overwhelmed is one of worry, not knowing if what we planned will really happen as we hope, trying not to think about bad weather or wind, the pressure of being the decision-maker.

Overwhelmed. Waves crashing over my head. Unprotected. Being buried under heavy loads.

Being overwhelmed is a strange thing…sometimes it makes a person freeze where they stand, or it can make somebody work even harder. Overwhelming circumstances even have the power to inspire. Right now, its just making me more tired than I already am.

A couple weeks ago, I took Hope to Disneyland where we proceeded to wait in a forty-five minute line to see the Princesses. We had never done this before and I gave her many chances to get out of line to do something else. No, Mama. I want to see them. Neither I nor Hope knew what REALLY lay behind the faux-royal-wall of mystery. All we knew was that there were more than one Princess, but we didn’t know which ones.

A long, hot line…a lot of wiggling and a little whining. Finally, we were ushered to the other side of the wall and there they were. First, Belle with her enormous yellow dress was waiting (it seemed to this little girl) ONLY for Hope. She beamed at Hope and spent several minutes talking to JUST HER. She asked her questions, they giggled together and Hope was overwhelmed. Good, overwhelmed. It was too much, because then there was Cinderella in the same manner (just her, waiting for Hope by herself), and Snow White and Pocahontas (a princess? I know.).

These pretend Princesses sitting on artificial thrones on a fake dais, each one waited and spoke only to Hope, making her feel special and unique. This overwhelmed her. I saw it on her face and she was a little shy and hesitant, but also accepted the attention and giggled back.

This overwhelmed, this good-inspiring-awesome overwhelmed, this look of amazement on my little girl’s face, this is all I need to remember when I feel like the waves are crashing on top of me. I know that its okay to be underneath the pile, because this what I am doing is all for them.

If this Harvest Fair was only for my two little girls, it would be worth all of the work.

On this cool afternoon armed with a camera, I once again was set on trying to find the perfect family photo. Even with my parents in tow to assist, of course it didn’t happen. This is our last trip to the pumpkin farm, picking vegetables, watching the PUMPKIN LAUNCHER pitch squash like a cannon hundreds of feet into the air. Pumpkins exploding, children squealing and my husband’s face open with awe was enough for me. I don’t need a photo to be happy about today.

There is nothing more precious than a sunglass wearing toddler kissing a pumpkin. This is what she did on Friday afternoon as we left for our flu shot appointment.

There is nothing better than a Saturday lunch of leftovers, spaghetti, soup or whatever you can wear as a hat.

Let them get messy sometimes and you let go of the stress of a marinara-stained floor.

Let them wear their lunch on their head because the bathtub is close by (and whoever saw a better hat than a spaghetti bowl, anyway?).

Let them get dirty hands and noodles in their hair because when they are our age, its way too late!

Don’t make them grow up before they are ready. They will most likely live for another hundred years.

Blue eyes and tomato-y lips make a beautiful combination, in my opinion.

It was worth it just to hear her sister laughing!

I wait. Always.

I wait in lines, for my husband, for bedtime. I wait for milestones to pass and I wait for difficult times to be done. Sometimes, I think…

“If I can just get past….then I will be fine.”

This is such a lie.

In November, our family is travelling to England to visit Chad’s sister and family. LAX to London is about 11 hours with no stop, no break, no wiggle room, no playground or bed on which to stretch one’s legs. There will be no place to change a dirty diaper except on my lap or on a narrow plane seat. I know I am over-worrying things, but right now, I am ONLY thinking about the departing plane ride. I am waiting for this to be over.

So then, this morning, this is what I think. How far into our 9 day trip will I begin to think about the return flight, and start to wait for that to be over? Ohhh, no. I could wait and worry for the rest of my life and never be done.

This is the lie: there will always be something to “get past”, and once I “get past” it, I really won’t be “fine” because there will be something else…

Solution? Don’t worry, Sarah. The 11 hour trip will be just fine. Yes, there might be crying and snot, and there will certainly be poop. There will be sleepy heads and cranky words from every mouth and upset tummies and “when will we be there?”. There will be wide awake eyes in the middle of the night because of the eight hour time difference and there will be emotional outbursts for sure.

I must live in today and cherish tomorrow, not worrying about it getting over. I must relax in the now and look forward to the adventure of taking my almost-six-year old on the adventure of her life!

So today, I am waiting. But I am waiting for the good, the lovely, the beauty of a country-undiscovered and relationships renewed. I am waiting to hold my baby nephew for the first time and see his new smiles. I am waiting to relax in the comfort of my sister-in-law’s kitchen over coffee and letting the cousins play on Thanksgiving. I am waiting and I am happy to wait for all of this.

Last night it was a brown moon and this morning, a red sun.

A brown moon. Not a wide, welcoming harvest moon of yellow and gold. But a pinched, dirty and smallish moon that seemed too far away.

A red sun this morning. Not a sun that casts pink glows on the hills at sunrise or at setting, but a red, apocalyptic sun that hurts the eyes.

This heavy smoke cloud that rests over the city filters all of our light. Strange oranges and dingy greys are the palette today and the sky rains ash. It gets in every thing (including my lungs) and then swirls along the pavement in mini dust storms at ankle level. It really is an odd landscape. Worse than the worst smog, the smoke makes any outdoor exertion impossible.

It all saddens me, then makes me wonder at human frailty. We are so fragile and delicate and dependent on clean air and cool weather. Heat and smoke weakens the body and depresses the spirit. Our lives are brittle, short and therefore, precious. We are so easily broken.

But, the smoke will pass. The cloud will be swept ocean ward, and will dissipate. We will all breathe deeply again and I can resume my running outside. The fires will be put out for the last time this season (THIS season), most people will return home and some will rebuild. Cool and damp autumn air will replace this hot dryness and we’ll shiver when we let the door open (rather than cough). Those who lost everything will find it in their soul to move forward. It will be November soon.

And there is always hope.

I’m tall, Mama. I can hold your hand when you walk, but you have to walk slowly so my little legs can keep up. Pay attention to my soft hand, not what you need to do.

I can talk, Mama. I try to say new words every day so listen well. Learn my new beautiful language so we can whisper secrets to each other.

I am learning, Mama. Try not to yell or speak harshly, but teach me and show me what is right. Help me understand how to live in this giant world.

I need you, Mama. Sit with me and watch a movie. Play dress-up with me or build a house with my blocks. Show me how to share.

I love to play, Mama. My favorite things to do are running and climbing. I want to be strong like my sister, so take me to the park and let me fly!

I’m a big girl, Mama. I want to be just like Hopey and I love to follow her. But I know that I am still tiny and small and I need you to give me limits.

I love you, Mama. I am learning every day what it means to have a little heart full of a big love. I have learned to hug and kiss because I watch you every day. With my little eyes and open mind, I watch everything you do.

The gap between doing and becoming is vast. For me, it is difficult to make the leap between being a participant and taking on an identity.

Running. I have run for exercise and pleasure for about 7 years. I run. I’ve ran races and I’ve had running partners, running friends. I’ve spent over two hours on a treadmill before. I run. But when someone asks me if I am a RUNNER, I really find it hard to say yes. Saying, “I am a runner” denotes an added responsibility, a commitment to being something. It means that running is no longer an activity for me, but a part of who I am. It says I am experienced. It is taking the bounding jump between the doing and the being.

Writing. Someone asked me on Friday if I was a writer…I stammered, stuttered. “Well, yes, kindof, I blog, I write, maybe…, if blogging is writing, then yes, sortof”. The bounding jump between the doing and the being. I hadn’t made a decision yet about my level of commitment or of how much I am dedicated to identifying with writing. How much of this is a part of my identity? Is this part of who I am.

Incidentally, while I was running on Saturday, I reached the top of the hill. I slowed down for a couple minutes to touch the pole before I turned around to go home. I think I decided to become, rather than just do. I made a conscious choice to become a writer than to merely write. I guess it is part of growing up, to take the bounding leap to the other side, to the side of responsibility.

I am a runner, a writer, a wife and mother. I am a lover of God. These are the things that I claim. These are the things I am. Other things, I do. This is what I am becoming.

Oh, where do I begin?

All of the fires in our area seem to affect everything and everyone. Even though my house is in no danger, my chest hurts from the constant breathing of smoky air, and my heart is hurts because I know people who will probably be losing their home.

People on the news have already begun to blame the federal government for lack of immediate help. They, I think, turn their fear and grief into anger at something or someone…many people need to direct their anger at another person. Nothing good will come from that.

We have federal air tankers waiting for the wind to die down so they can drop water and flame retardant on the flare-ups and on homes that are close.

But, you see, the news makes a person crazy. It really does. I had to turn it off last night because I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to know how our area is being affected, but then again, watching just made me more scared. All morning, I listened to the radio news in the car, and that made me crazy and fearful too. I am hearing angry residents of Silverado Canyon one minute who actually are saying they want to shoot the Fire Chief because they think he hasn’t done anything. Then, the next minute, here comes the Fire Chief so frustrated because he doesn’t have enough air resources to actually fight the fire (they are just trying to save everyone’s lives right now).

They say we are still in the first stages of this. You see, its making me crazy. And this is only one of about 16 or so fires in this part of the state. 750,000 people are under forced evacuation in San Diego County. Whole cities have been deserted and nothing is under control. Hundreds of homes, now, have been burnt. A few people have already died and there are dozens who have been injured. Just in our little fire in Orange County, almost 16,000 acres have burned.

Nothing is under control and the news is making me crazy. I have to stop watching and pray more. I know that Someone is in control and He isn’t crazy. In fact, he is All-Wise, and All-Powerful, and All-Mighty.

The winds, they say, will continue through the night. I know Someone who speaks to the winds, however, and they obey.