Coffee

we had VBS. then last week we had 5-day club. these have to be intrinsically good becuase the gospel is shared, but they wore me out like nobody's business.
and so i woke up on thursday a little earlier than usual (i'm a sleeping in kind of mama, and i have mostly sleeping in kind of boys), with just one awake, and i almost didn't know what to do.
almost.
but i did what any sane mom would do: i made coffee in the christmas present keurig, poured my creamer and sugar in, stirred til it swirled, and i took a hot sip of coffee.  such a small pleasure to be such a languishing victory.
i wish i could say i read my bible or prayed beyond the popcorn prayers i've been offering when certain people enter my mind, but i did sit, quietly before the clamor of three more boys came in offering dream recounting, diapers needing changes, and breakfast served right up.

the rest of the coffee usually swirls to tepid, and by then the day is too hot to care anymore, but for 30 minutes i enveloped the warm silence.

i'm late in joining, but michelle is having a graceful summer series. join us?

Where the wild things exist

a mother i don't know
told her daughter to save
room
in her world
for the
untamed
things

and

there is no
thing
as wild
and reckless
as love

(i don't think)

but some people
are
afraid

and weed them
out

i have

(i think)

is my heart
ALIVE
enough
to hold all the
tame, calm creatures
as well as
the wild that exists
in darker forests,
higher mountains,
eery oceans,
and vaster plains
than i'll
ever
know?

to love a wild thing
is a secret
inside

linking for the first time in a long time with emily and a whole wild community of imperfection

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.

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