At times, I know I stand in the center of life.
I love the Heart who captured me and captivates me. I love being a mother. I love these girls that I pretend are mine but who will one day follow larger paths. I love the surprise of laughter leaping from me when they do what they do. I love storytime at night, all pressed together on the couch. I love this home, with its worn floors and its ghosts and spaces and stories. I love living circled by familiar hills and woods. I love Millie's heart, Annika's spark, Susannah's spunk, Piper's certainty, and Luci's light. I love the birds whose songs force my pause. I love their shapes that dart beyond, even when I lack eyesight or knowledge to identify them. I love the seasons, the assurance that life begins again and, in fact, has never left. I love the white shard of moon that slants into the room while everyone else is sleeping. I love strands of song to tie a day. I love the straight-arrowness of children. I love learning new things with the girls while I "teach." I love too many grins packed together. I love not knowing what comes next. I love John's company.
I like the wrinkles by my eyes but not those on my forehead. I like the sheen of a rooster's tail. I like the quiet parts that will one day wake again and try to fill gaps the girls leave behind. I like leaning over the supper pot and breathing deeply, my head wreathed in steam. I like the floor honeyed with sunshine. I like Piper's belly balanced on little legs. I like the twist of her lips and the cock of her head when she leans close to ask a question. I like rare mornings when sleep has been enough. I like a day looming bright with possibility. I like thumps overhead and knowing who's awakened. I like fresh beginnings. I like it when John sends me Pickles comics in the mail to let me know who we are. I like it when he brings fresh flowers home for no reason at all. I like holding hands.
I don't want to be the old woman filled with regret. I don't want my thoughts then to be of all I squandered. I don't want a dirty floor and constant laundry to fill my days. I don't want an ugly voice raised in frustration. I don't want to be bad-tempered. I don't want to chug through what I sometimes think is Educating while neglecting what sparks the soul. I don't want to scurry past the good and beautiful and worthy.
I don't want to be a selfish, crabby woman.
I want to live with wide eyes. I want to live the knowledge that life is holy.
I want to be Grace to my family. I want to remember that I love and like lots of things.
Because I've lived both what I do and do not like lately, I write a ramble to leave the don't likes behind.
Abby, I've echoed so many of your words here with my own thoughts over the last weeks. I even had an identical thought about the wrinkles a few days ago - The eyes. The forehead... But thanks for putting words to that perpetual longing to abide in the joy and wonder of it all (tough as, some moments, that may be.) Thank goodness for the grace of God (and, amazingly, of small children!!)
ReplyDeleteI love this post. I love your words.
ReplyDeleteI like how you share your words with the world, when you really don't have to and how the world is changed by them; I am changed.
I have read and reread this post so many times because it so aptly conveys what drives me and humbles me, what frustrates me and encourages me. And knowing I am not alone in these things makes such a difference.
You know what is so funny? I just told Matt a few weeks ago that I always wanted to be one of those old women with laugh lines instead of scowl lines and I lamented that I have tons of scowl lines. That makes me sad.
Most mothers walk this balance between joy and Other Than.
ReplyDeleteMost people do.
The constant quest is to seek and see the one mixed in among the other.
Small comfort, this, but my mother informs me that the forehead wrinkles are more a mark of genetics than temperament, thank goodness. She's a pretty happy lady, and she said my wrinkles are from HER, not from my grumps. Also, I recently became aware that I furrow my brow when I'm thinking (which occasionally happens), when I'm doing chores in the wind (which happens a lot), and also when I'm doing dishes (which happens all the time). That's a lot of wrinkle time, even without the grumps.
Beautiful words.
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