By Jennifer Thompson 
I’m not sure when I hopped on the people mover, but at some point, I did. Or at least that’s how it feels. I feel like I see all the people walking alongside me, and there I am, floating by, moving at twice the speed. I want to join them. I want to slow down. I want to take it all in and have the comfort of stopping to peruse items at the gift shop or grab a coffee from the cafe, but time is pressing, and there are places I have to be.
If I stop and think about it, in this season of life, I think most of us are on the people mover. We feel like time is moving, moving, moving and we are going, going, going. We want to take it all in. We want to be present. We want to slow down and enjoy it all. But the dishes are piling, the laundry is demanding, the calendar is full, the workload is growing, and there’s a birthday party that needs planning right around the corner.
But as I travel at what sometimes feels like warp speed through the seasons of my life, I’m realizing that I can see the place where I get off the people mover. I can see the exit more clearly than I have in a long, long time.
It’s right there.
Our oldest will be a sophomore in college, our second a senior, our third a sophomore, and our fourth—the forever baby—will be a seventh grader.
Years ago, I couldn’t imagine being where we are today. I couldn’t imagine what a house filled with children who are as tall (or taller) than I am might be like. But here we are. And the things all the wise women who had been there before me said are starting to make more sense.
The days are long, but the years are short. This used to annoy me a bit, but now I see it for what it is—truth.
So while time is going a bit faster than I would like, and I realize I’m in a season where there’s not much time for perusing and cafe sitting, I also see the treasures that lie here. I am starting to see more and more clearly that this time is fleeting. These years won’t last forever.
At some point, sooner than I can possibly realize, our home will be quiet.
The shoes won’t be piled at the door.
The pantry won’t open and close at the weirdest hours like it does now because I live in a house with four teenagers.
The appointments won’t need to be made.
The laundry won’t pile up.
The food won’t leave our house as fast as it comes in.
Yes, the rooms will stay as they are, and I won’t find clothes and wrappers and socks and gaming devices stuffed in odd places—but I will miss this.
I will miss this time when it feels like I sometimes can’t catch a breath, and I’m not sure if my head is actually above water.
I see the people walking alongside me, perusing and smiling and drinking their coffees, but now I know what I couldn’t before—they were here once. They had their time on the people mover. And they are cheering for me. They are rooting for me. They are showing me how fortunate I am to be here. They know the struggle of moving so fast, but they also know the grass isn’t always as green as we think on the other side.
So I take a deep breath.
I plant my feet where I am.
I look around as a smile spreads across my face.
Yes, the days are full.
Yes, time is moving fast.
But the truth is, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
by Christine Leeb 
by Carla Burgess 
