I’ve lost track of the days lately: they are full, and rainy, and involve a lot of driving.
Little Jo can be a little bear when her nap time is thrown. Sometimes she responds to a firm “no” by immediately covering her eyes with her small hands. Y and I are still trying to figure out what this means, but I think she is trying to make us (briefly) disappear.
Lucy is coping with the change by sometimes asking for her pajamas in the middle of the day and finding cozy corners to curl up in with stuffed animals and books. Her energy reemerges in the evenings, when she climbs over the sofa arms and jumps from the cushions to the floor in amazingly resilient bounds. I never knew there were so many possible ways to get a concussion in our childproofed living room. “Not over the play table, see? If your foot catches on that and the rest of you falls into the wall, what do you think will happen?”
“I’ll crash into the wall and crack my head!” Gleefully.
On our way to the new house yesterday morning, I put in a “new” CD that Y found at Goodwill: Sara Groves’ Station Wagon. I’ve loved of a lot of her other songs, so I also loved that the album begins with a clip of Sara coaxing her son to say hello — the sound of her just being a mother.
How do you sleep so peacefully?
How do you trust unflinchingly?
How do you love so faithfully?
How do you dance so joyfully?
Oh you’ll teach me
Of hearts and dreams
And all the most important things
And all that I have lost along the way
And I can’t wait
– “I Can’t Wait”
And I don’t know what it was… maybe the song, or the recent feeling that the baby days are streaming so quickly through my fingers, or a long-after effect of last year when I thought I might not get to be here for this part of their childhood… but right there in the car, I was thoroughly drenched in the joy of being the mother to these two daughters.
Last night I got to shop for and tie curling ribbon on little boxes of crayons for Lucy’s classmates, since they were going to celebrate summer birthdays today. When Little Jo wakes up in about twenty minutes, even though I might have to get to the bottom of why she’s been coughing all through her nap, I’ll get to pick her up and kiss her baby cheek, and bring her downstairs. I am watching wonder and humor and faith unfold in a thousand fluttering ways, and partly due to the prayers we are sending up for friends who’d give their eye teeth to be where I am, the privilege of it all is not lost on me.
For some reason there are more prayer needs than I can count these days, coming in from small group and friends far away. I learned things last night about refugees from ISIS-occupied regions that I can never close my eyes to again. It seems like such an odd pipeline, but even as I bear these things in mind, and know that life will bring valleys again for us too, my gratitude for the beauty of this corner of motherhood is pulsing red-blooded life and a properly sober love into those places of need. Perhaps that’s where living, breathing worship always leads.
So thank You. Thank You for right now.
I have seen the most amazing sights
in my travels on the earth
moonlight sleeping on the canyon heights
and other things of matchless worth
but next to you all of the beauty seems so plain
you would think i’d never seen a beautiful thing
– “Beautiful Child,” Sara Groves