Bath Time

Bath time used to mean bath toys, Johnson's Baby Shampoo, and sweet-smelling, pajama-clad toddlers afterwards.  These days it means a hot bubble bath, a good book and a calmer, cheered-up, pajama-clad me afterwards.  I think I'll always miss the former, but I like having time for the latter.  I guess that's what I'm beginning to understand about this whole emptying-of-the-nest stage I'm in: losing some things means gaining others.  I don't know why it took me so long to realize this--the same principle is at work throughout life.  When you move from childhood to adulthood, you lose the simple, carefree days of having someone take care of you, but you gain independence and the freedom to make your own decisions.  If you decide to marry, you give up some of your autonomy but you gain a lifetime of companionship.  If you end up having kids, much of the relaxing couple time you had with your husband or wife disappears, but in its place you get warm, rich, rambunctious family time.  And, as I found out recently, if your husband is diagnosed with cancer, you give up your sense of well-being (at least temporarily), but you gain a deeper understanding of how very much he means to you, a fresh realization of how lost you'd be without him, and a new appreciation for every ordinary and extraordinary day you get to spend together.  I don't know why it took a bubble bath to help me grasp this, but now I see there really is a season for everything and a time for every purpose under heaven (Ecclesiastes 3:1).