Weary

Do you ever get weary of the church?
His bride, His treasure, His true love---
riddled with wolves and division---
and the rest of us sheep wondering just how long,
how long Lord?

TGIF

Today was one of those days I felt overwhelmed, under-appreciated, exhausted, worn out, and just begging for a break. You guys didn't nap for more than like 20 minutes. Baby girl--you're getting teeth, and haven't been sleeping well all week. Little Man--you're pushing boundaries and bored. Mama was working hard and doing her best but still wanted to curl into fetal position.

Now you're both asleep, with Little Man in your bed and Baby Girl sleeping on Daddy. And now, in the quiet and in the dark, with my blood slowed and my feet up, I forget the stress and drama of the day.

You make my world beautiful, babies.

Seasons

I've been pensive the last few days, really savoring and trying to hold in my hand the concept that babies grow, people die, marriages end, and the present turns into ancient history. It just slips away. I don't know why my son turning three has been such a dramatic event for me, it just has.

The first year of a first child's life is a training ground like no other. Parenting boot camp, full of nerves and panic, and just when you think you have a grasp on your new role, your itty bitty baby is a walking, talking toddler. The second year went by even quicker than the first. And as I watch my son follow directions, make wise choices (even at his age!), learn new things, and exercise his own will, I'm reminded of just how fleeting and short life is. Even the good stuff. Especially the good stuff.

I'm learning a sad lesson; I can't capture time. 

Ecclesiastes 5: 11

As you do not know the path of the wind,
    or how the body is formed in a mother’s womb,
so you cannot understand the work of God,
    the Maker of all things.

Stay little, sweet ones.

Three.

I was rootless until this little boy made me a mama.
Hubby and I roamed all over, lived in tons of houses and apartments, and embarking on the parenting journey has given us solid roots in our adult life. It's not just something we do, a title we hold, but a lifestyle and an identity---a sacred trust from God--to care for our son and daughter. It's sometimes daunting, challenging, sometimes a sliver of insanity peppered with joy.

Tomorrow this guy has his 3rd birthday party. UNREAL. Our little toddler is now a tall preschooler, towering over the little shorties in his age group, lovin' Thomas and baseball, painting and bath time, running down hills and bubbles (always bubbles).

Where did you go, sweet cherub-faced boy?

He's so polite, kind, and thoughtful. The world will steal his innocence soon, but we hope to give him something better--integrity, grit, patience, perseverance, steadfastness, loyalty, and ultimately, holiness. The world cannot take that away; it will only sharpen him.

He had his first overnight with Nana and Poppy last night. Hubby and I missed him more than we thought possible--I even checked his room late into the night, like I usually do, and my heart skipped a beat when he wasn't in his bed. (Mini heart attack, until I realized he was safe and sound with his grandparents!) When he came home this morning, Thomas hat sitting helter-skelter on his crazy hair and sleeping bag tucked under his arm, he gave me a wide, sleepy grin and said, "Mommy! Don't cry, I'm here! I'm back!"

But later I did cry, maybe for a minute or two, when he was finally napping next to Buzz Lightyear and a few matchbox cars.

He won't be 3 for long. I wish I could hold him, tightly, forever.

The beauty itch.

That familiar tingly feeling in my hands is back, that insatiable desire to create beauty.

Our melody.

It's in the classical music hushed in our babies' room,
the gentle laughter from a tucked in toddler, wrestling sheets and fighting sleep,
our knowing smiles, dizzy from sleeplessness and heavy with responsibilities,
the crackle of dinner on the stove,
hum of the washing machine,
bubbling groans of the coffee pot.
It's our song, all of it, without words to diminish it.

I hum our melody all night long.

When our song began. 8-29-2009.

Steps.

The heat billows from the earth below,
mingling, toxic, with fumes of cow manure and swamp.
We pinch our noses and push through,
the click and squish of shoes through mud muddled by whirling insects
assaulting our ears.
One foot, then the other--
one, then the other--
one, then the other.

The field looms ahead, seemingly endless and I want to throw my hands up,
swear to never travel this way again.

Is it worth it? Why am I doing this?
Then He says,

2 Corinthians 4:8-12

New International Version (NIV)

⁸ We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; ⁹ persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. ¹⁰ We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. ¹¹ For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. ¹² So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.