When you say nothing at all

toes push, heels rock, we're swinging
and my legs are metronome to the
heartbeat of a quiet afternoon.
neither of us are talking,
just sitting:

push, rock

the clanking of chain against chain
and screw inside of wood
protesting against our weight,
and we're simply sitting
amid the bird-song and each other:

push, rock

and i think, "we're here on a swing
and there is space between us
and he's just two
and i wonder if he knows
how much i love him?"
so i reach over,
caress his fat-creased thighs
and i whisper,
i love you:

push, rock

we're just sitting
and neither of us is talking
and there's space between us
and still looking forward
he reaches over the space and touches my hand:

push, rock

How brothers love

when we were in the new to each other stage, we talked of siblings (So we talked about moms and dads /About family pasts /Just getting to know where we came from~lyrics from Blue October's 18th Floor Balcony) and compared our threes: me, one of a set of triplet girls, he, the oldest of three sons. his world was foreign to me, brothers who tussled and punched out their love and how he took care of them just because they were his brothers. how he cares for them still, though values diverged long ago, beckoning 'tough love.'

and now we have four... all those "god bless her souls" in the produce aisle, the "4? oh my words" in the drive-through, and even his own opinion that he'd have been one revered roman senator back then.

when we had shea and our whole hearts swelled even as our world turned over, we couldn't see past our love for him, couldn't have known how that love swells with each growing belly. when connor came, it was "how will shea react?" when avery arrived, how would three interact?

with love, that's how.

shea's almost five and he loves his brothers big. he corrects, he bosses, and he's even been known to hit. but, oh, he tender-kisses owen, invites avery to play, and teaches connor how to do things. and connor loves in his own physical way--the smothering hugs and the hard intensity to be involved. and avery loves uninhibited by anything because he's had two to teach him what that is.

i walk by their room at night, see two boys tucked in to each other like dreams.

i am alone nursing owen on couch (my kingdom), and i hear giggles and tickles.

owen cries out, and three heads rush to shush, offer (not always) helpful advice (he's hungry, mama. he wants up, mama).

it's alchemy, this world of my sons. it's the turning of snakes and snails and puppy dog tails into the men who will always be there for one another.

(see? they can even share sometimes!)

Where i'm from

I am from sprinklers and Flinstone vitamins and made believe stories, the things that grow a young girl up.

I am from the long yellow house with a wood and small pond

(I dipped my toes in once, rafting,

but never again because the fish liked to nibble)

I am from the garden’s canned tomatoes and peas shucked finger-purple.

I am from the mimosa in her fancy feathers

and the crepe myrtle with her july-bright pinks and purples,

these summer ladies amused at our paper-fan attempts to cool ourselves.

I am from “doodle sauce” and crooked smiles, from rosie and cleo and grandfathers I hardly remember.

I am from the crawfords and russells and I know my father’s name

but not his branch of history.

I am from bunkbeds and sleepovers and stage whispers through walls,

from plump, messy women who hold grudges and love too hard.

I am from mind your manners and don’t count your chickens before they hatch, from the Ten Commandments and faith rugged as old crosses

and red letter editions in a pew held down by sister mary, and I wonder

if she was afraid to witness about jesus like I was?

I am from the South, from biscuits and grits

and fried chicken and greens, though not like how

my mama cooked them for the first time at age 32

and added a whole cup of sugar because when she called his momma for the recipe, she wasn’t too specific.

I am from history in typeface, newspapers

yellowing and fragile on the shelf in her closet,

world events and family obituaries too rich to throw out,

stored along with photo albums of her first marriage and us as babies.

I am from books and history and photos that never tell the full story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i saw this at suzannah's (and hers is SO beautiful!) and decided to try my own.

Breaking

the sound of glass shattering has my boys' feet scrambling even as the tears and sorrys drip fast. this is because i'm afraid of the broken things. fragility has long been associated with value, and i've known breaking:
a pottery jar i saved money to buy. the emu egg she gave me. that sweet picture of him when we met.
these have all met a shattered fate, and i cried at each shard thrown away, rebelled against the permanence of broken.
those little eyes knew my displeasure, and i wonder if their hearts didn't break, too, just a bit. should they be careful in the house, our home filled with plenty of fragile things? my worldly self says, "of course!" but i wonder what He would think of that, He who is yet an untamed Lion, and this not the season for lying with lambs.
i've learned that His word says he does not willingly afflict his children and that his compassion is renewed every morning. i think this is precisely because he knows how hard the refining is; He who was broken and rejected breaks us so that He may spill forth.
oh, we are fragile and precious both, for are we not earthen vessels filled with treasure?

my sister is in a time of breaking, and i've prayed hard for her this week. some of what is at stake affects me, too, and i am a little afraid it's my "turn" to face this kind of refining. i know His hand is on both of us. i also know that unlike me with my little trinkets, when i break, he does not get angry and lash... he restores and heals the broken-hearted.


a perfect place to meet imperfect people all somewhere on the journey in being broken--linking with emily and others

432(1)

today is a day-
the last day-
i have four,
all stepped down
one from the other
by a single year.
this is the day so little
separates
them
but the year in which
they were loved alive.
shea is oldest, still 4
his daddy-broad shoulders
carrying the weight of the world
of little brothers
and wearing his mama-freckles
brightly asking of the world
all whys.
and
connor is middlest, still 3
with blonde ragamuffin
(i love that grace the best)
and eyes blue as a promise
that impish will and
push back against the grain
the strain of nots.
and avery is today's child, 2
finally out of ones,
and he is all brawn and laughs
and head full of cherub curls
intensity's child, he.
and lastbutnotleast owen is still just one
month (ok, and a half)
and he is quieting extension
of mama, still breast-close in all wonder.
thank you, Father,
for sons a heritage and ours a full house.

happy birthday, beautiful avery!

linking for the first time in ages with emily and others

In which I am filled unexpectedly

owen is 5 weeks. i say this to remind myself this is still a time of crazy. but i've been reminded by nancy and my friend christina that things happen in cycles (oh, Ecclesiastes!), and now i have hope that my words will return, the desire to write again will come, and that while i'm not sharing words here and processing, i am doing a good work at home with my four boys. my house is still a mess--i think i'm giving up in that department!--and meals are whatever can be served hodge-podge because i rarely have two arms at my disposal, but i have three happy older boys and a seemingly pretty content new guy. things are good.
i broke out my mei tai this morning for the first time because i just needed to get SOMETHING done, and owen went right to sleep, happy in that place next to mama's heart. i'd forgotten how glorious it was to have two arms again, and so i stole some moments to read a few blogs i haven't visited in ages. i've been filled again. listening to worship music i am reminded how much i love the Lord. reading words of hope and humor and grace i am reminded how much the Lord loves me. i have not been to church of the brick and mortar sort in months, but today i was filled. He is good.

friends, if you still read, know that i will be back though i don't know when. life is still a bit hectic and i haven't completely gotten it all figured out, but i know i still need this space.

Gradual grace

i haven't been to my ladies' bible study group in ages. i miss the connection, the Word, and the fellowship of my sisters. i aimed to go this evening, if for no other selfish reason than to see walls other than my own living room, and so today for the first time in many moons, i picked up both Bible and study guide on Acts. i didn't end up going, but i think He knew what He was doing by kick-starting my cabin fever and nudging me in the direction of this group of women, just so i would pick up his word. He surprises me when it's evident He wants to meet me. what love is this, when i'd just as soon ignore him for seasons at a time?! and there, the words that jumped off the page: sovereign grace is gradual grace and gentle grace....divine grace does not trample...but rather it enables.
john stott is discussing the mercy of saul's damascus road conversion, and yet i see these words as testament in my own journey. from the day freshman year of college i tentatively asked my first bible study leader, "i know i should know the answer, but what IS grace?" to becoming a mom 10 years later, i've seen the gradual work of grace on Self, the kind that leaves me intact but invites His holy hand into my life. gradually and gently indeed.
i wear a sterling band as an outward sign of the inner work of wife-dom: when words are sharp and loosely held, grace reigns. when exhaustion embitters and grumbles, grace swells. when love is stretched 7 years long, sighing for the ease of earlier years, mercy is new every morning.
my belly is stretched and marked and my hair grey showing all my mother-work, and grace renews. there is no wrinkle cream to erase the toll of labor, but there is a wisening that rewards: i no longer have to try to be perfect. i can accept that i mess up (all the time!) and pray for sovereignty to win, and He will.
thanking Him today for His gentle prodding, for His love that is without fail, for His compassion for his children, and for good gifts he willingly bestows. Amazing Grace!