The scribbling

it's all in the scribbles, isn't it, this mother-love?

it's waking up, wishing to have newest here, him having planned nothing because we have hinged all hope on meeting tiny one; he's so afraid i'm disappointed, and i am, but only because wee one isn't here. he helped the boys scribble mother's day notes, and i couldn't be happier, couldn't be more excited about the little hands i've helped co-create, those little hands wrapped around sharpie markers, the scribbles of their little lives telling my story of grace to all who have eyes to see.

we scribble in this day-to-day. we scratch our puny efforts, all this mothering with eyes cried dry and arms stretched world-wide-love around these little ones. it's not the majestic hands of adam and God in michelangelo's painting; it's the chubby, dimpled hands of fat crayons making sense of a world perceived in young faith. yes, the lines go 'round and 'round most times, and maybe it's all the same color instead of utilizing vast palette. we can get bored with the monochromatic nonsense, or we can find grace in the intricate shapes that emerge.

and they always do, those shapes... i see the shape of lover's body imprinted into mine, even swollen as i am. i see the shape of my mother's hands who began me years ago. i see the shape of other women in this one-village, the knit-together of souls and geese, the lifting of prayers and laying on of christ-hands. motherhood is nothing but shapes and scribbles, our breathing out the honesty of failure and fruitless effort that imbibed with his grace turns to miracle of Testimony.

i am so thankful to be scribbling these 3-point-nine (!!) baby boys. i pray internal one emerges soon, and pray for my three little outside loves to know the weight of grace.

Grace in the grey

i am angry. i don't like angry words in this space, and still my heart struggles to see all His goodness, not because i don't see it, but because i'd rather dwell in flesh-folds of hurt and bitterness. i crunch on ice, and the metal taste of sin doesn't melt away.
nine months is a session of waiting, this i know, take some comfort, even. enjoy the internal flutters and the growing intimacy with this tiny babe in womb and the transformation to kicks that thump against my lover's side at night, a different intimacy to be sure.
i am not mad at the waiting or the discomfort or the fatigue i can't shake.
i'm angry because i can't stop insisting i'm right, and since when do my rights-as-liberties owe themselves to not-wrongs?
birth is natural. it HAS to be--weren't we created for life eternal? then why such a struggle to make normal what is normal? i've been labeled high-risk, the baby might just be large, and i was even asked if i could handle the work of labor because i'm overweight, and all i wanted to do yesterday post-appointment was cry. i carry this gestational diabetes teh fourth time, and this time i've done it well: limited weight gain and perfect post-meal glucose readings. but it's not enough for medical professionals. yes, this baby is large; so, too, my others and well-handled, birthed just fine. and yes, i'm overweight but my body can't stop the war of birth even if i wanted to. i know that primal urge and no "professional" can stop what has to happen.
discouragement is a hard garment to wear. i'm constricted, and it seems a veil covers my eyes, forcing me to see shadows instead of the play of light against dark.
His hand reaches out:
she rang our doorbell last week when i was so tired i couldn't think past the lying on bed, and he comes back to say she'd brought chicken noodle soup and strawberry pie. she rang the doorbell again yesterday after the almost four-hour appointment full of "no's" and "can'ts" and she offered yes and can with His hands cased in wrinkled fingers, meatloaf foil-wrapped and cold by now with apologies because we weren't home when it was hot yet. she didn't know how bare the fridge looked to these angry eyes. or how the giving of bread and nourishment un-worked-for by me was edible grace. she doesn't even know my name, but she asks husband every morning they're off at the same time how i am and if the baby is here yet.
anger begins to dissolve into humility. He is still in control. He has to be: weren't we meant for eternal life?
i watch these three play together this morning on a rain-prison day, and i'm still tired and still waiting and still sad that i have hurdles to jump. but Grace holds me close even in all the grey. there will be encouraging phone calls from precious friends, and fried meatloaf sandwiches for lunch, and this little one is Known. it is enough to stop angry words.

Windows and resurrection

i asked for his help--i could tell he was waiting up for me, and task-oriented, i was trying to hurry through just the next few steps to a "good" quitting point. we laughed at my non-spatially wired brain and the fact that my method had prolonged my measuring and cutting the fabric. i asked if he'd help cut the last few strips with me; two pairs of scissors staring at me ready, and only at the end of the night had i thought to ask for his help. giving instructions to cut on this line, leave that fabric there, we snipped side by side and wordless, til hesitantly i asked, "i hope you don't mind this menial domestic work?" in all his hazel seriousness he replied, "why would i? it gives me a window into your world." it's been almost seven years since we first met, and he still takes my breath away with how profoundly he loves me. when do i take the time to so casually and intensely whisk away the curtains of our everyday to see him so present in his world, too?

on a post-Easter monday, it's so clear to see the Groom analogy for He lived and died so thoroughly in our world so that we might yet live in His. my breath forces exhale in unspent worship at the magnitude of grace, the curtains rent so that we may Live.

When nesting is more than a list

i love lists. i love checking things off those lists. i love post-its and sharpies (colored! fine line! oh my!). i love the rustle of my legal pad with all my to-dos and shopping lists and half-written journal entries. for those like me, there is a sense of wonder and security in being tightly wrapped up in the crossed-off sections of need want do, and in a season of end-of-pregnancy urgency, it could get easy to stay there, between the lines and check marks.
but there is more to a nest than provision.
there is beauty in tangled twigs, each one positioned just-so by a loving parent.
there is moss and down to provide just enough softness for those entering the world from jagged shards.
there is a landing to fly from eventually, and there is shelter in the now.
first-time mamas know the frantic energy to wash baseboards and iron crib sheets, to shop for every little thing the baby might need, and mamas with a little more experience know that preparation is helpful and hard to come by. we may still wash windows, but we also chase older siblings and pine for easy rest.
i know i have been absent here, and i miss it, and all you lovely reader-friends, dearly. my mind is muddy and my energy is non-existent. we've got about three weeks til this little boy comes, and i treasure the time of being his womb-home as it will be last, but i'm also eager to meet him and be in the next season. i've had my moments of cleaning at midnight, and naturally, that's when blog post ideas or thoughts pop in, but then just as quickly, the energy and poetry is gone. but i'm still poet-mama while list-making and diaper changing and fast-food meal-providing. i'm here, and still as much in love with grace as ever. i'm still a broken mama who yells a little too often in this tired, tiring stage, and i'm still bowed low with love from a God who provides just what i need when i need it.
there is joy here in the waiting, i'm just not writing about it that much. i'm eager to share news of his birth with you, if it takes that long to write again, and otherwise i take shelter in this period of interim/enter-Him.

Storms

yesterday we had severe thunderstorms and tornado warnings and had a power outage. this is the blog post i wanted to have up yesterday for counting blessings.
also linking with suzannah today
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more grizzly bear than mama bear these last few days (weeks?!) and i tire of grouching all day. there seem a million viable excuses, but i tire of them as well. am i angry? tired? is there a difference in the sight of little boys?

today we have severe storming; our power goes out so we do, too--let someone else prepare our food, fast, and we drive down streets with trees broken and houses splintered. all i could see were people coming home to such damage. my heart wanted to break for lives unknown to me, their stories in books i'll probably never read.

our own street untouched by the wind's rage, though two streets over trees lie on power lines keeping us in dark. not even an upset trash can--this the only evidence today is any different for trash would normally be picked up by now. and inside this house we call it "disaster zone" but no branches gape in my walls...we call those three boys "tornadoes," yet all in one piece and mostly oblivious....me with stormy heart now calmed to see real storm, real damage, wishing to be a peaceful mist in my own home.

grateful for: (283-290)
husband who loves through the grouchy woman invading me; 3 boys who grace me with smiles and gripping hugs; power out-quiet! and respite from tv's noise, also, the invitation to play, be creative in getting along; him home to help and not out driving weathered roads; money enough to buy lunch and getting a break from darkening living room; the One who calms the storm and allows it to rage to calm my internal storm.
prayers for:
those in our neighborhood facing financial and emotional hardship in the days to come; safety for city workers dealing with felled trees and power lines; grace for those continuing without power.

Of soap and sand

it was a stolen moment, a little quiet hiding tucked into the busy of day, those little ones for once just playing together in their room uncaring where we were. we simply lay on covers still unmade from last night and wondered at the simplicity of aloneness, this private cocoon. he grounds me in this nest of arms, and my restless feet statically and rhythmically keep time against his calves. inside the growing one kicks through my belly to his belly, we laughed. he is long and solid like history, and i'm all curves and plump softness (except that tight globe i love so much), and i'm the one leaning on him. i've always been this way. i told him how he makes all of us--three busy boys and even furry loves--feel as if we were the center of his universe. he shrugged; he's always been this way. avery clambers in, finally missing presence, and he reaches over me to grab him up. long brown curls mimic his smile as daddy holds him high and mama snuggles close. shea comes in to tattle, and connor comes in all loud-boy-noise-machine, and the bubble of first-couple is broken just that easily. but like soap, there will always be residue, the tickle of memory from unexpected oasis. so we heave off bed with laughing tickles, our sand in the desert swallowing footprints of the day.

linking with emily and other broken poets along the way

Towards a spring theology

she played hooky from work yesterday and we talked long and fast, our nature. she wanted to call just to say the bluebonnets are there. i've written of them before, how they helped this lonely soul see Him again. spring always refreshes, and i adore memphis in spring (which is why i missed it so hard!). bradford pears have changed lacy shawl to summer-green and japanese magnolias have dropped their magenta petals. in their wake, the remaining cherries, the dogwoods of easter promises, redbuds, and wisteria so haunting to make me weep. these are gifts i unwrap every errand, every excuse to drive, and i feel that winter thaw again.
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we played hooky from bible study this morning, she needing work done, and i just eager to go over later and play. lunches packed and chocolate delivered, and we talk and love each other with skin on, and i think, "home: friends. true spring. my boys singing walkin' to memphis [sic]."
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i received excellent news yesterday that has assuaged so many fears and relieved some pressure; good medical reports often do. this wee one inside--so heavy and low!--seems protected from the diabetic complications i had with my last pregnancy. i am still on the diabetic side, but so close as to be borderline. unfortunately, my current OB is still pushing for many extra measures, but i feel confident to deny them safely. it is yet another blessing, this prayer being answered so mightily.

i hate that it's so easy to trust and enjoy when the winds are calm instead of storming. spring is both, though, eh? all this new green and pale palette and then the rains that chase the petals from stems. all this creation sprung from the same hand: my sister and i tightly joined in womb to love across all this distance just to share a flower; the beauty that revives me every spring; the visible answer to prayer to mark His hand this day, and even the storm that raged internal last week and that rained out his soccer game on sunday.

Thank You, Lord, for this hands-on love, this spring of rains and the Eternal water of life.
linking with my lovely friend, suzannah, for her ShoutLaughLove. come along?
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