Meet Routine

  In the next few years, obviously the Girard house conformed to fit our family. And I wasn’t the only one with projects. My husband built a cool tree house for Jims in the willow with rope rails and a bird’s nest which became a pirate ship, a space ship, an alien planet, and a dreaming place. There was a shed in the middle of the yard, too, which we decided to turn into a play house for Sissy. With Grandpa’s help, they dragged it from one end of the yard to the other, dug a trench from the garage to pull electricity to it, sided it with new T1-11, built a front porch and a Dutch door, and I painted it blue—like our Jaunmarupe house. Inside they laid vinyl flooring and installed tiny double-hung windows. I made frilly curtains in pink and green and we put all the little kitchen furniture and plastic steak and eggs inside. We made ice rinks and had soccer teams practice in the back yard.


Not long after all of that, my husband decided it was time for more space and that it should start in the garage. With little effort and expense, we contracted to add 12’ to the back end of our deep 2-car garage. This allowed room for a work bench and tool chests along with a new “freezer room.” Before the addition, the garage had a little room framed inside with a sliding glass door and indoor-outdoor carpeting. We ended up putting a big chest freezer in there along with items we were storing that we didn’t want exposed to the otherwise dirty elements of the garage. Since our house didn’t have a basement, this clean storage was handy, so we made sure we rebuilt this space with the addition. Even though it was a garage, the extra room was luxurious.

We did all the things one would expect. My husband started graduate school, the kids were involved with school, sports and lessons, and I was heavily obligated (with enjoyment) to church activities. Busyness abounded. We finally had reached that state of un-flux. I was convinced that this kind of consistency was surely the key to building a happy, stable family. No more waiting for the other shoe to drop. No more chasing. It was clean living at its best, for sure, and we had what we wanted and worked so long to attain. So there was no explanation for my restlessness at night. I would try to conjure sleep by praying for forgiveness for wanting more than what had generously been given. I had an ache for richer, not in an ungrateful way, but in an unsatisfied way. This is utopia?

I’ve written a lot about tension. How a little is necessary and too much is chaotic. How for me, the tension of static we always seemed to find ourselves in was usually relieved by cooperating through it, and how that cooperation usually involved a major move or decision which required a great deal of planning. That was the reliable rhythm. It made me feel the most productive, and ironically, I found comfort in it. However, it had been made clear that only a girl with pretty big, selfish issues and unrealistic expectations could be left unfulfilled with the life we’d been given. Routine wasn’t my friend, but I when I would fall asleep night after night in that willowy room that I made up, I begged her to be.