Snapshot

i'd be lying if i didn't admit that i'm feeling a bit overwhelmed these days. i can't even always pinpoint why or by what, but i'm a bit foggy. these days that melt into yesterdays all too quickly are filled with frozen pizza survival dinners and housework rarely caught up, and some days i'm okay with it, this just doing what i can, and others i feel weak and tired and incapable. this has been my journey with motherhood, and with grace. i profess 'not i but christ in me' while wishing the me looked a lot different, more perfect somehow.

lying in bed and talking last night, i whispered to him that i just wanted to be normal. and he caressed me with his gaze, and said, "no you don't. you want to be perfect."
and i do.

but i look around and all i see are my own imperfections, the ones that cry out, i can't do this, i can't do it all, the ones trying anyway.

and these voices clamor loudest some days, especially the days he's further away, and we long-distance our love and skype goodnight to the boys. i'm afraid all my brokenness will break them somehow, and i just want to hold it together so i never have to let them go.

so today i give thanks in an imperfect picture of life right now, so that i truly live in the truth of grace, the kind that glues us together, the kind that mends the shattered bits, the one that reminds me to love myself because He first loved me, not shunning my imperfections but taking them on as his own.

356. owen's fuzzy hair
357. because he slept on me all morning
358. not allowing me to get a single thing done
359. the laundry mostly caught up
360. even if not all put away
361. and connor chooses to wear War Machine, again
362. and avery isn't even wearing any pants
363. owen said "mama" for the first time
364. at just 10 months old
365. and i've been smiling ever since
366. avery's success at the potty--self led
367. which means less frustration for both of us
368. connor, the golden boy who would play outside all day
369. reminding me how important it is to be outside, all of us
370. the gorgeous weather we're having
371. and the spring plants
373. i can't get enough of the dogwoods and wisteria and azaleas
374. and texas sister calling to tell me the bluebonnets had bloomed
375. making me miss them, flowers and family both
376. rickey, my beloved, for all the ways he holds me and lifts me up
377. for my mom
378. for girlfriends
379. for coffee

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

When late doesn't mean untimely

i really dislike being late to things. i set clocks a few minutes early, and i'm one of those "if i get there on time, i'm actually late" kind of people.

except motherhood has changed me. or rather, it's change my sense of timing, not so much my preferences to be early for things. the tyranny of the urgent is different when your hair is unwashed, the table still laden with yesterday's dishes, and your food comes through the fast lane (because sometimes it just does). they say the now is all about them, the little moments, and they are, and i just eat them up some days. others, though, i just keep my head above the mess, and barely.

i've been so absent here. i've felt so wordless, and yet there are so many spewed meaningless-ly elsewhere. and then i finally bought ann's book. so late i am, but finally here, and i remember the counting. and somehow i also remember that when you have an eternal perspective (and which christian bought does not, i ask?) you aren't actually late; you are simply donning grace's cloak.

counting, join ann and others?

340. the "better lates than nevers" i'm experiencing with my family
341. for bikes delivered to the boys
342. so we can exercise together
343. and those three little boys sleeping in their helmets because they just can't get over the gifts
344. and sleeping in (despite daylight savings)
345. and husband getting a taxi to airport instead of waking us up
346. sleep
347. sleep
348. owen no longer sick
349. and shea less sick
350. and the others avoiding getting sick
351. for husband's work going well
352. for impromptu play-dates
353. and mamas coming over at night
354. and sister phone calls
355. always, grace

Scrawling

yet again it's too early after a night that went too late, and my head throbs as it's been doing lately. i can't undo the tired, can't undo all the mess, nor the empty.

i've been still, trying to be filled.

i almost came to say goodbye to this space, to crumple the paper, toss it aside.
~~~~~~~

my coffee cup has rings in it from where a sip taken and time lapses have left their mark like a door panel growth chart, and three rings down the brew's just too cold to enjoy.
the baby's forehead is still hot, his cheeks still somewhat flushed; he fuss-whimpers for me to hold him while struggling to settle down.
the fat orange tabby meows for letting-out, and somehow i'm hearing all metaphors this morning.

good morning memphis chatters on mute. i forgot i wanted the weather.
i've written of bleak winters and missing my spring, and here they are, all my favorites: the japanese magnolias, forsythia, buttercups, redbuds, and new green sprouts. i see them, but dimly, lacking my usual enthusiasm.

see? life goes on, coffee gets cold, and weather reports get missed. this is how the empty seems to fill me up lately. i know there is more, can see the Bigger just outside my peripheral, and somehow feel unable to reach, to articulate my gladness at spring.
~~~~~

i know words will come, for in the beginning was the Word. He will come, He is. these are the truths that don't let go (even when i feel i hold on to nothing).
i know grace is freeing (even when i feel i'm drowning), and her story will write itself (it looks a lot like "wash me" on the back windshield).

cats need letting out, diapers need changing, baby needs nursing, and husband needs transporting to airport. ebb and flow, slow tide, whoosh.

dare i smooth out the crumples in my paper and press flat my hopes again? scrawling....

how worship is the hardest thing we do

we talked of the commandment, how he tells us how to love him, worship him, return to him the glory that is always his, and that little part of me always chafes at the being told what to do, and i wonder if we aren't just puppets after all.
and then one of the ladies suggests that worship is not for us and i think if it's austere, then there is more room for him to fill, less for my useless attempts at purity and law to clutter the space, and i breathe low. think, that worship is sometimes painful, and it is, i know, because i have sung praises on a tongue that wanted curses, have prayed selfishly because i didn't know how to say i love you and mean it, and because all i really want to worship is my own self, my own strengths, my own time and needs.

and it's only the heart for him. pure form means nothing if a heart is defiled, and he knows the heart, knows my thoughts,
and if knowing me, how can he love me?

this is worship.

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.

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.