Our Endless, Numbered Days.
Friday afternoon, the park. Snapshots proof below.
John and I (mostly John) spent Saturday sorting and packing up a few more boxes. The day was fitful and stormy, but the clouds rolled back in the afternoon, so the girls and I went for a puddle walk. The darkness swept in again before we reached home, and the splash under our feet was matched by the splash of raindrops on our heads.
Our rear lower neighbors seem to be angry, unhappy people. Like a summer storm arriving without warning, they shouted and cursed at John on Friday while the girls and I sat upstairs, thankful for the sound-dulling barrier of wood and glass. Yesterday, resting content in the company of John and our three, I thought of them and of the Maker's hands forming their tiny baby within her. I am grateful that God gave John and I believing mothers, and I pray that He grants me the courage to live and love my children rightly and the mysterious grace to teach them what I, in weakness, am yet learning.
A joy that swallows whole, an overwhelming task, mothering is both of these and more, and living without the girls seems pale and unthinkable.
3 comments :
Thank God for believeing parents! Indeed!
Amen and amen. It breaks your heart for the babes that enter into a world without the love God has shown us, to show them. Oh, that ALL THE WORLD would know...
Since I've become a mother, I ache so deeply when I see children treated wrongly. I want to snatch them away and bring them home, and, having been brought up in the Truth, it makes me ashamed of my own failings. I can only imagine what sort of mothers produce mothers like those I see.
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