Showing posts with label parenthood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenthood. Show all posts
Monday, June 25, 2012
Trickle
i have a 13 month old taking his nightly nap on my lap, his arms folded ann geddes-style under his chin, his eyelashes are black feathers on a pink cheek, and his feet are almost as long as my hands. he's growing too quickly.
my connor has become an artist almost overnight, and i don't even know how to tell you what this does to my soul. it has made me fall a little more deeply in love with his blues (i wonder if his all blue see the world differently than mine, all brown?) and his imp-dimple, and his limber little legs. there is a story for every drawing (mostly bombs and fish, lately), and a smile for every time i ask him, "tell me about it?"
shea, so close to six he can't stand it, squints his eyes a lot, and we think he might need glasses, but he's already shocked me by his right vision, how he already knows that jesus died for him because He loves him, and he knows that we need to be perfect again one day. that we will be. he trusts this so fully i'm humbled. i want to ask him how he came to trust so well.
little-yet-not mr avery, how he makes my heart swell with his golden spirit. his curls wooed me like his bobbing bottom when he was a baby, but now i wonder my love at him because of how he loves: with every fiber of his being. he apologizes for being sad, he wants the whole world to know he exists, and he wants most of all to laugh with you, and hug you, and make the world okay.
these boys of mine, they are pieces of me, aren't they? the story-boy, the literalist, the people lover, even the baby who knows his securities.
slowly, i am emerging from this hollow place i've been. i feel words trying to trickle back inside of me, outside of me.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Welcome, spring
today is a beautiful day.
today we went outside to swing and practice bike-riding
and connor plucked dandelions, blowing their seeds
and avery picked wild narcissus and tried to blow their petals, too
and i couldn't help but laugh at such innocence
and the trees above us danced
scattering pollen in the air, and i wasn't even mad
because it just means more beautiful things will grow
(and there can never be too much beauty, ever)
like owen, laughing at the wind who hugged him right back
and me on the swing listening to all this music
the laughter, the little boys playing, the spring-song of outside
today we went outside to swing and practice bike-riding
and connor plucked dandelions, blowing their seeds
and avery picked wild narcissus and tried to blow their petals, too
and i couldn't help but laugh at such innocence
and the trees above us danced
scattering pollen in the air, and i wasn't even mad
because it just means more beautiful things will grow
(and there can never be too much beauty, ever)
like owen, laughing at the wind who hugged him right back
and me on the swing listening to all this music
the laughter, the little boys playing, the spring-song of outside
Sunday, February 5, 2012
heavy
it's been a week, my ring resting on the window sill above the sink. days have been spent washing dishes and laundry, and the ring was put aside for safekeeping and skin protecting. i slipped it back on and bought paper plates this week--my desire for sparkling reminder outweighed my Eco-conciousness.
we hold hands this week often, weighed by heavy thoughts, and talk about jobs and mothers and prayer and fear.
our newly wed love simmered like indian food i taught him to like, piquant and saucy. or like too-long shopping trips just because we could, and spent too much money on too little food. or like our long, meandering drives with nowhere to go and tank full of gas, counting the miles in conversations.
today's love looks like night-times not entangled in sheets but a pint-size baby overtaking a king-size bed and a trip to the grocery becomes my day away, and a cart is loaded while a purse is diminished, but we still drive to talk, fingers grazing over gear shifter and penny trays, little boy conversations trickling over our shoulders.
this has been a long week with heart-wrecking conversations and monumental decisions. i would appreciate any prayers if you think of us.
we hold hands this week often, weighed by heavy thoughts, and talk about jobs and mothers and prayer and fear.
our newly wed love simmered like indian food i taught him to like, piquant and saucy. or like too-long shopping trips just because we could, and spent too much money on too little food. or like our long, meandering drives with nowhere to go and tank full of gas, counting the miles in conversations.
today's love looks like night-times not entangled in sheets but a pint-size baby overtaking a king-size bed and a trip to the grocery becomes my day away, and a cart is loaded while a purse is diminished, but we still drive to talk, fingers grazing over gear shifter and penny trays, little boy conversations trickling over our shoulders.
this has been a long week with heart-wrecking conversations and monumental decisions. i would appreciate any prayers if you think of us.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Rainbow math
it's late with no clock to whisper the time or day.
with one hand i stroke his cheek, dispelling the myth that there is no room for intimacy after babies. i love his day-old scruff, stroke his hair, corner-smile at the little kisses he plants on my nape.
with my other hand i curl owen towards me, make sure he's still sleeping, only to prove the myth after all. i am close enough to still smell his shampooed hair, and his toes dig into my ribs (again); my smile turns full at the wonder of being surrounded by my loves.
it's a working of math, for this word-girl: the at once mother and at the same time lover, how i never really stop being either.
i drift to sleep thinking, white is the sum of all colors.
with one hand i stroke his cheek, dispelling the myth that there is no room for intimacy after babies. i love his day-old scruff, stroke his hair, corner-smile at the little kisses he plants on my nape.
with my other hand i curl owen towards me, make sure he's still sleeping, only to prove the myth after all. i am close enough to still smell his shampooed hair, and his toes dig into my ribs (again); my smile turns full at the wonder of being surrounded by my loves.
it's a working of math, for this word-girl: the at once mother and at the same time lover, how i never really stop being either.
i drift to sleep thinking, white is the sum of all colors.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
For Mama
she starts the water running, warm, begins to fill the sink with suds.
i scold, no, no let's enjoy this time, let's just visit, but she fusses back that she just wants to help, to be here, and well, why not get some work done, too?
this is the time-honored rite of a mother and daughter washing dishes together: the hands ruddy and wrinkle, and the hearts bond over trivialities. we, for whom this is still new, remember the silent time soberly, for there is nothing more solemn than a mother who doesn't know her daughter or a daughter who mothers alone.
she washes; she doesn't know where my dishes go (a subtle nod to the gaps we're trying to erase), so i rinse and dry, and we continue the growing. we reverse-learn our quirks and tell each other our stories.
she tells of me-as-babe, the sarge who bossed everyone around. i tell her of shea's funny logic or avery's scaredy-cat ways. i ask her for advice on potty training (will he ever learn--yes, she insists), and we commiserate in this mutual motherhood.
despite no dishwasher (and months of my moaning otherwise), the dishes end too quickly.
water drains, gurgling.
the last dish is put away.
we no longer stand side-by-side at a sink, but the heartbeat of women working still beats.
i can't believe how big grace is, how far we've come in a year.
i scold, no, no let's enjoy this time, let's just visit, but she fusses back that she just wants to help, to be here, and well, why not get some work done, too?
this is the time-honored rite of a mother and daughter washing dishes together: the hands ruddy and wrinkle, and the hearts bond over trivialities. we, for whom this is still new, remember the silent time soberly, for there is nothing more solemn than a mother who doesn't know her daughter or a daughter who mothers alone.
she washes; she doesn't know where my dishes go (a subtle nod to the gaps we're trying to erase), so i rinse and dry, and we continue the growing. we reverse-learn our quirks and tell each other our stories.
she tells of me-as-babe, the sarge who bossed everyone around. i tell her of shea's funny logic or avery's scaredy-cat ways. i ask her for advice on potty training (will he ever learn--yes, she insists), and we commiserate in this mutual motherhood.
despite no dishwasher (and months of my moaning otherwise), the dishes end too quickly.
water drains, gurgling.
the last dish is put away.
we no longer stand side-by-side at a sink, but the heartbeat of women working still beats.
i can't believe how big grace is, how far we've come in a year.
Friday, November 4, 2011
An ode to five months
when i want to write and feel wordless, i should remember to always fall back on what i love and know best: those little boys of mine. bear with my mama-heart? :)
my baby is five months, and i think i literally ache at each day older, just wanting him to stay for a while. with all those previous, i was ready to stop bed-sharing, ready for a little "independence," some space, if you will.
how?
(there is no real indictment from me; i know who i used to be. i shiver in remembering. how can there be grace? i shiver in the undoing)
i am not ready for intro-to-solids.
not ready for him to be in his own room, far away in our tiny house.
not ready for him to crawl and get bigger.
i wasn't ready for him to be out-of-womb because of how special that sense of all mine was. i still feel he's just mine in a way, and i could breathe in his soft plumpness for always. he has found his feet (truly, no thing in the world is as cute as a fat baby holding his feet to his own delight, i say!) and found his voice (pterodactyl? squeaky-toy?), and i can already see him running away and telling me no, and i pray he stays little a little longer.
each of my sons has a treasure i love, and i chuckle to think of what i love most about baby owen: he is small and young for a fleeting season. already it is cold when i was fatly pregnant in spring. so as he rolls over onto belly and gets stuck in the bumbo and drinks deeply from mama's breasts, i choose to honor this time with gratitude that he mine to borrow at all.
my baby is five months, and i think i literally ache at each day older, just wanting him to stay for a while. with all those previous, i was ready to stop bed-sharing, ready for a little "independence," some space, if you will.
how?
(there is no real indictment from me; i know who i used to be. i shiver in remembering. how can there be grace? i shiver in the undoing)
i am not ready for intro-to-solids.
not ready for him to be in his own room, far away in our tiny house.
not ready for him to crawl and get bigger.
i wasn't ready for him to be out-of-womb because of how special that sense of all mine was. i still feel he's just mine in a way, and i could breathe in his soft plumpness for always. he has found his feet (truly, no thing in the world is as cute as a fat baby holding his feet to his own delight, i say!) and found his voice (pterodactyl? squeaky-toy?), and i can already see him running away and telling me no, and i pray he stays little a little longer.
each of my sons has a treasure i love, and i chuckle to think of what i love most about baby owen: he is small and young for a fleeting season. already it is cold when i was fatly pregnant in spring. so as he rolls over onto belly and gets stuck in the bumbo and drinks deeply from mama's breasts, i choose to honor this time with gratitude that he mine to borrow at all.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
When you say nothing at all-Repost
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
reposting this for enily's imperfect prose
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
reposting this for enily's imperfect prose
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
How patience is sexy
he told me once how he used to hunker down, ashamed by height and breadth--til the day he held his firstborn and knew his shoulders were meant for this all along.
~~~~~~~~~
today he held connor, the one i'd pushed away several times because of the boy whirl-wind and impish antics. the one who trampled nerves already frayed and mamamamamama'd the ears overstimulated.
~~~~~~~~
connor says, "i love you," and i say, "i love you, too, baby," but does he hear without hands?
and daddy just picks him up, full of patience. patience despite all the traits, antics, touch, noise that undoes me.
i fall in love with my green-eyed man holding my blue-eyed boy. this man is patient with me, too, filling in the gaps where i am short, hunkered down in selfish "i can't do this anymore!"
so that when house is quiet (ok, it's not all that quiet, connor's wheezy breathing snoring through walls and pele's collar clanking with itching dream twitches and the muted honking din of city streets)
we collide in grace, parents holding our babies' hearts, lovers holding each others' hands.
~~~~~~~~~
today he held connor, the one i'd pushed away several times because of the boy whirl-wind and impish antics. the one who trampled nerves already frayed and mamamamamama'd the ears overstimulated.
~~~~~~~~
connor says, "i love you," and i say, "i love you, too, baby," but does he hear without hands?
and daddy just picks him up, full of patience. patience despite all the traits, antics, touch, noise that undoes me.
i fall in love with my green-eyed man holding my blue-eyed boy. this man is patient with me, too, filling in the gaps where i am short, hunkered down in selfish "i can't do this anymore!"
so that when house is quiet (ok, it's not all that quiet, connor's wheezy breathing snoring through walls and pele's collar clanking with itching dream twitches and the muted honking din of city streets)
we collide in grace, parents holding our babies' hearts, lovers holding each others' hands.
Monday, September 12, 2011
The beauty that surrounds
there is a beauty that surrounds me,
(even when i overlook it.)
there are some days i forget to walk outside,
so fail to see how green comes in ten shades, just on ivy road.
or, how smart and wily the backyard birds are,
arrogantly eating the dog's food,
fluttering away with a taunting second to spare.
we return to play, now that heat is not so oppressive.
maybe now that we have more work to do?
the boys are more outside than in,
though the flies are more inside than out;
we dizzy in the middle, hap'ly.
my house has probably never been messier,
but why clean up the forts
and sweep away the dragon's lairs?
owen grows fat on mama's milk;
i blossom in his honey smiles,
us: making liars of canaan's promise.
this home i make in beds unmade
and arms entwined (yes, love is made, too)
surrounds me in beauty
i often overlook, but can't wait to see
(even when i overlook it.)
there are some days i forget to walk outside,
so fail to see how green comes in ten shades, just on ivy road.
or, how smart and wily the backyard birds are,
arrogantly eating the dog's food,
fluttering away with a taunting second to spare.
we return to play, now that heat is not so oppressive.
maybe now that we have more work to do?
the boys are more outside than in,
though the flies are more inside than out;
we dizzy in the middle, hap'ly.
my house has probably never been messier,
but why clean up the forts
and sweep away the dragon's lairs?
owen grows fat on mama's milk;
i blossom in his honey smiles,
us: making liars of canaan's promise.
this home i make in beds unmade
and arms entwined (yes, love is made, too)
surrounds me in beauty
i often overlook, but can't wait to see
Sunday, September 11, 2011
How to learn at home
it's been one full week, this new addition to our life, us just trying to find a rhythm. shea and i had our first week of kindergarten, him not sent off with backpack in tow and bright yellow schoolbuses...just another pop-tart on the couch while i nursed owen and the tv was left on a little too long. i always thought i wanted to homeschool, but i was filled with fear and worry that i'd do it badly. i kept saying to myself, "if i'd just get started...."
mama, teach me!
his words, unprompted.
me: fears beginning to quell, heart humbled.
Yes, LORD, teach me, too!
mama, what will we learn about today?
shea is so eager to work every day (he even wanted to work on saturday; i put my foot down on sunday to prepare for the new week!). this is where i must fall to my knees to remember that teaching everything is teaching nothing if not about the Lord. we see skies, we breathe air, we wear our provisions in tummies full and bodies warm, and these are the things i must learn anew, teach fresh: to see rightly the world (fallen) through the lens of Creator-Savior.
teach me, Abba!
too long since i've voiced my gratitude. resuming with the gratitude community:
301. for living in a country that allows me to teach my children at home
302. for the comrade-in-arms i have with brownie, also homeschooling this year
303. for husband willing to support this new adventure
304. for four children, truly a blessing from God
305. for the occasional naps that owen has taken not in my lap so i could get things done
306. for all the naps that owen takes on my lap because this time is so fleeting and i could hold him forever
307. for shea's willing and eagerness to learn with mama
308. that we had a successful first week (and can judge success on our own standards)
309. for learning to let go the things i have less control of (ongoing!)
310. our memory verse: and what does the lord require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your god? micah 6:8
mama, teach me!
his words, unprompted.
me: fears beginning to quell, heart humbled.
Yes, LORD, teach me, too!
mama, what will we learn about today?
shea is so eager to work every day (he even wanted to work on saturday; i put my foot down on sunday to prepare for the new week!). this is where i must fall to my knees to remember that teaching everything is teaching nothing if not about the Lord. we see skies, we breathe air, we wear our provisions in tummies full and bodies warm, and these are the things i must learn anew, teach fresh: to see rightly the world (fallen) through the lens of Creator-Savior.
teach me, Abba!
too long since i've voiced my gratitude. resuming with the gratitude community:
301. for living in a country that allows me to teach my children at home
302. for the comrade-in-arms i have with brownie, also homeschooling this year
303. for husband willing to support this new adventure
304. for four children, truly a blessing from God
305. for the occasional naps that owen has taken not in my lap so i could get things done
306. for all the naps that owen takes on my lap because this time is so fleeting and i could hold him forever
307. for shea's willing and eagerness to learn with mama
308. that we had a successful first week (and can judge success on our own standards)
309. for learning to let go the things i have less control of (ongoing!)
310. our memory verse: and what does the lord require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your god? micah 6:8
Friday, September 2, 2011
Hogging the details
i'm the only one who's given him a bath. i cherish the touch of his butter skin against my mama-worked hands; my palms linger in fat-roll creases like his wrists are smiling, and i grin right back. i test that water tepid and smell that soap lavender, and i just know these are my moments to drink right full.
i wrap him in a big, fluffy towel the way eternity would, because our now is all i have, and i want to remember the tiny holding when he's too big to wash and wear. i tender-wipe off lingering droplets, and tender-coo him into snapping pajamas all warm.
he lies between us at night, but really, he's still all mine-mine to let down milk and mine to curve a "c" around in groggy half-awakes. the world is ours at 3 a.m., though neither of us sees beyond the other. he drifts back into milky sleep, my starry child, and i claim the details exclusively: don't grow up yet.
i wrap him in a big, fluffy towel the way eternity would, because our now is all i have, and i want to remember the tiny holding when he's too big to wash and wear. i tender-wipe off lingering droplets, and tender-coo him into snapping pajamas all warm.
he lies between us at night, but really, he's still all mine-mine to let down milk and mine to curve a "c" around in groggy half-awakes. the world is ours at 3 a.m., though neither of us sees beyond the other. he drifts back into milky sleep, my starry child, and i claim the details exclusively: don't grow up yet.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Sabbath calling
i just wanted today to look differently than yesterday, i said as we argued through those leaps and bounds from the original 'complaint.' i wanted lunch to be with four hands, owen held and diapers changed and to feel teamwork once again. tears trickle out their frustration, and i secretly beg him to understand. can a saturday feel like a break for a mama at home all week? she whose job sleeps in her arms at night, suckling through the waning darkness, whose little bosses require multi-tasking and imagination all at the same time? and i know he knows, for he works Out There and comes home to wife all rumpled, cross-legged on couch in pj's, and he swoops in to hold babies and be jungle gym and freely offers bottle and ordered pizza. but our saturdays have rolled in like mondays, just a day older for baby and another one with split shifts and 4 boys all-at-once.
we hug tightly, kiss deeply, our fears and frustrations all mixing with oxygen and apologies, and somehow we know to just keep trying, know that things will even out, and we're going to be okay.
later, scrubbing dishes, white bubbles serving tenure to swish, swish, rinse, i hear His voice: will tomorrow look differently than today?
all my sundays have looked like mondays and wednesdays, and how would anyone ever know there was a sabbath if only watching me? i have not worshipped in a house, have not put down my work to rest, have hardly let prayers leave my lips nor raised hands in silent desperation. oh, i'm saved, a wrecked soul redeemed, but how could sabbath be different for this child?
i still didn't go to church today. there are a million excuses, always. and yes, i know my work of love and home-tending do much to honor Him, yet, i have been alone for a long time. i am reminded of the need for sisters and brothers with fellowship-skin, touch that heals and gives, space to worship out loud and to hear truth. this is a hard season of all kinds of limbos, the will-he-need-to-nurse, the war of anxious child in nursery, the task of getting out-of-doors in one piece let alone with matching socks.....
dishes are done. day is almost done. owen is bouncing. shea and connor are not-sleeping. avery is dreaming by now. and i... i am praying in repentence for forsaking the body so long and grateful that there will be Sabbath.
we hug tightly, kiss deeply, our fears and frustrations all mixing with oxygen and apologies, and somehow we know to just keep trying, know that things will even out, and we're going to be okay.
later, scrubbing dishes, white bubbles serving tenure to swish, swish, rinse, i hear His voice: will tomorrow look differently than today?
all my sundays have looked like mondays and wednesdays, and how would anyone ever know there was a sabbath if only watching me? i have not worshipped in a house, have not put down my work to rest, have hardly let prayers leave my lips nor raised hands in silent desperation. oh, i'm saved, a wrecked soul redeemed, but how could sabbath be different for this child?
i still didn't go to church today. there are a million excuses, always. and yes, i know my work of love and home-tending do much to honor Him, yet, i have been alone for a long time. i am reminded of the need for sisters and brothers with fellowship-skin, touch that heals and gives, space to worship out loud and to hear truth. this is a hard season of all kinds of limbos, the will-he-need-to-nurse, the war of anxious child in nursery, the task of getting out-of-doors in one piece let alone with matching socks.....
dishes are done. day is almost done. owen is bouncing. shea and connor are not-sleeping. avery is dreaming by now. and i... i am praying in repentence for forsaking the body so long and grateful that there will be Sabbath.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Inhale their belonging
i sniff deeply behind his tiny ears and i inhale the scent of eight weeks:
johnson and johnson and milk that has dribbled and hair matted from deep baby sleep
my older boys smell of earth and sweat and summer-scraped knees
or, fresh from bath, like lavender whispers.
and his smell is my deep secret--my heaven on earth, for his is marked by
laundry detergent, deodorant, and the breath of kisses
i breathe these men in deeply, inhale their belonging
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i hope i smell more than just unshowered and like last night's dinner;
i want tiny ones to sense in me a love that gazes long and prays hard
and i want my beloved to know my scent on the wind, home(where the heart is).
johnson and johnson and milk that has dribbled and hair matted from deep baby sleep
my older boys smell of earth and sweat and summer-scraped knees
or, fresh from bath, like lavender whispers.
and his smell is my deep secret--my heaven on earth, for his is marked by
laundry detergent, deodorant, and the breath of kisses
i breathe these men in deeply, inhale their belonging
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i hope i smell more than just unshowered and like last night's dinner;
i want tiny ones to sense in me a love that gazes long and prays hard
and i want my beloved to know my scent on the wind, home(where the heart is).
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
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
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
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
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
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
Thursday, June 9, 2011
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!
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!
Monday, May 30, 2011
Here
my hair is unwashed, my teeth unbrushed, my toilet unscrubbed, and my milk-drenched shirts unlaundered. in all this physical world, i've never been so tangibly happy.
to have and to hold is marriage-speak, but i vow into this little one's existence as well. owen is here, and we are all in love.
we are in the foggy land of newborn, but it is a sweet, sweet time, and while i won't say it's a breeze, it's also not quite as hard as i expected it to be. i'm unmedicated (having run out) and yet happy to be so: all this love isn't chemical manufacturing, just oxytocin and mama-love dripping rich. he is a gem, and i can't let go of him right now. i think this is the first babe we've had where daddy has had to ask to hold him! this volumes for a mama who gets over-stimulated and out-touched very easily, and i'm so grateful to the Lord for this time of provision.
rickey and i held hands over owen's sleep last night, and i felt our arms had never been long enough til just that moment--the craving to stay connected despite all this external daze and busy. just the small touch, even those trickling hormonal tears, ground me in his home-arms, and though love looks different per season, it's as rich and full as these breasts that nourish the baby (answered prayer again--nursing has gone successfully from the start, and i can't believe we're doing so well!).
he is one week; it stretches long at 4 a.m. and so incredibly short by day! he was born on his due date, the longest i've ever gone and all that fullness is replaced with him-in-arms. did i mention i can't stop holding him? i might write his birth story here, but for now suffice to say welcome owen graham who was 10 lbs 10 oz and 22" long and practically delivered himself! we are tired, and we stretch into this family of now-six, and the Lord is gracious and Good. Rejoice with us!
to have and to hold is marriage-speak, but i vow into this little one's existence as well. owen is here, and we are all in love.
we are in the foggy land of newborn, but it is a sweet, sweet time, and while i won't say it's a breeze, it's also not quite as hard as i expected it to be. i'm unmedicated (having run out) and yet happy to be so: all this love isn't chemical manufacturing, just oxytocin and mama-love dripping rich. he is a gem, and i can't let go of him right now. i think this is the first babe we've had where daddy has had to ask to hold him! this volumes for a mama who gets over-stimulated and out-touched very easily, and i'm so grateful to the Lord for this time of provision.
rickey and i held hands over owen's sleep last night, and i felt our arms had never been long enough til just that moment--the craving to stay connected despite all this external daze and busy. just the small touch, even those trickling hormonal tears, ground me in his home-arms, and though love looks different per season, it's as rich and full as these breasts that nourish the baby (answered prayer again--nursing has gone successfully from the start, and i can't believe we're doing so well!).
he is one week; it stretches long at 4 a.m. and so incredibly short by day! he was born on his due date, the longest i've ever gone and all that fullness is replaced with him-in-arms. did i mention i can't stop holding him? i might write his birth story here, but for now suffice to say welcome owen graham who was 10 lbs 10 oz and 22" long and practically delivered himself! we are tired, and we stretch into this family of now-six, and the Lord is gracious and Good. Rejoice with us!
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Iron men
super heroes
equipped with webs
and guns,
(yes, even guns)
and strength hard to believe
yes, these men are in our house
and those little boys' brains
and it makes me smile
that he prefers the ones that
are real,
still human,
just more, somehow
not the ones that are
all hero
or even all villain
(is it natural for all
boys to love a good villan?)
and i think how
his daddy heart is
iron will
and sharpens iron willfulness
times three
and well, four, when i let him sharpen me.
we watch these cartoons
and even i catch my own interest
by surprise
and wonder
at the power of hero worship
and how, some crazy how,
oldest started praying more
out loud
and he believes it
and i humble on the whispers,
cry when he prays for this tired mama
that [baby's name] comes soon
and i think
today i will be iron-strong for them, too
~~~
unbelievably i'm still baking this fourth little boy with an iron will to stay inside. i'm in all new territory as i've never gone a day past 38 weeks, and yet here i am past 40 and miserable besides. if i may draw on you to pray: if we make it to my monday OB appointment, i will be induced, and i'm terrified of a repeat c-section. i'm also afraid of a NICU stay for the baby; we will be paying for this birth as we are uninsured, and really, we just need a nice, normal birth if at all possible. could you lift these with us and take our fears to the Father? i'm ready to have him out on the outside, and i'm in denial at how hard it's going to be, that initial stage of newborn!
i am eager, though, to meet him, to be in our next phase, and i can't wait to share him with you. thanks for hanging in there with me, especially as i've been so reticent in this space and yours. i treasure all my friends here.
equipped with webs
and guns,
(yes, even guns)
and strength hard to believe
yes, these men are in our house
and those little boys' brains
and it makes me smile
that he prefers the ones that
are real,
still human,
just more, somehow
not the ones that are
all hero
or even all villain
(is it natural for all
boys to love a good villan?)
and i think how
his daddy heart is
iron will
and sharpens iron willfulness
times three
and well, four, when i let him sharpen me.
we watch these cartoons
and even i catch my own interest
by surprise
and wonder
at the power of hero worship
and how, some crazy how,
oldest started praying more
out loud
and he believes it
and i humble on the whispers,
cry when he prays for this tired mama
that [baby's name] comes soon
and i think
today i will be iron-strong for them, too
~~~
unbelievably i'm still baking this fourth little boy with an iron will to stay inside. i'm in all new territory as i've never gone a day past 38 weeks, and yet here i am past 40 and miserable besides. if i may draw on you to pray: if we make it to my monday OB appointment, i will be induced, and i'm terrified of a repeat c-section. i'm also afraid of a NICU stay for the baby; we will be paying for this birth as we are uninsured, and really, we just need a nice, normal birth if at all possible. could you lift these with us and take our fears to the Father? i'm ready to have him out on the outside, and i'm in denial at how hard it's going to be, that initial stage of newborn!
i am eager, though, to meet him, to be in our next phase, and i can't wait to share him with you. thanks for hanging in there with me, especially as i've been so reticent in this space and yours. i treasure all my friends here.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
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.
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.
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