I spent most of Saturday in Friday night's yoga pants studying my littlest and realized something. 'In between' is a season of its own. The quiet space where one door is quietly closing and you can just barely make out the light spilling in from the one that's opening. Legs lean out, words start spilling from tiny rosebud lips, and if you blink, you may miss it, like waking up on a cold fall morning and seeing bare branches and wondering how you missed the fire falling from the trees.
The time slips so fast in between and leaves me quietly aching for the moments that have past and cautiously laying faith in the ones that are waiting for us. With age and time we shed our skins and reinvent ourselves time and time again.
The in betweens.
The place where grace lies waiting for us in all that is unknown.
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