"God is here wit us," Lucy says and squinches herself under the wardrobe. I nurse the babe. Lulie crawls under with the dust-bunnies and Jack's stray bullets. I stroke Rosie's red baby hair. The morning eases in.
"And help everyone lub you," Lulie twaddles.
Prayer drifts up from the wardrobe. Janie's words come back to me, "Momma, I love everything you do just because I love you." And I'm there again as she gathers blankie up in long six-year-old arms, squeezes the love out of it. "I just don't even care what it's made of," she says. "I just love it because it's made by you."
Made by you. I stroke Rosie's cheek. Jane's words turn kaleidoscope, encircle me. I don't even care what you're made of, I just love you because you're made. by. God.
Made by God. Tread lightly.
Gratitude:
347. Mountains of clean laundry. Even the dirty load shoved straight in the dryer by eager little boy hands.
348. Jane's gentle words, "Think about what's gonna last forever here, Momma," as I yank a small hill of laundry from the dryer.
349. Six extra hands to ease cookies from mixing bowl to baking sheet to oven.
350. Cinnamon. Penzey's Cinnamon. Sweet, sweet cinnamon.
351. New niece, Rockie Amelia, safely delivered, her shock of velvet brown hair and how my brother practiced swaddling her for me, her mother's peaceful smile c-section not withstanding.
352. Lucy's eye appointment this week. The gift of an expert -- knowledge, discernment, eye-to-eye confidence.
353. Rosie gaining weight. And how she pokes her belly up in the air to the people she wants to pick her up.
354. Good running shoes.
355. Holy, Holy, Holy -- the hymn the children shout for at breakfast.
356. Jack's assessment, "A queen, Janie, is a WIFE."
357. Mango salsa chicken.
358. Banana quinoa pudding, lots of cinnamon.
359. Lentil soup with husband's parents.
360. Pulverized treat bags the children fill with water and smash out back.
361. A new headband.
362. Gray woolen boots.
363. Thanksgiving. Family. Blood relations. And the communion of saints.
364. A house full to bursting with all the family-ness.
365. Strength under control, meekness, parents who embody meekness.
366. Good, good food.
367. A warm rice bag for my feet seasoned with rosemary.
The prelude to Thanksgiving: Love. Like sunshine, you cannot hold it, or save it, you can only stop and enjoy it.
ReplyDeleteA house full to bursting with all the family-ness.
ReplyDeletesounds wonderful! Happy Thanksgiving :)
I had to drink in each thanks carefully and slowly. I think I can see you all better when I do that :)
ReplyDeleteHave a happy AMERICAN thanksgiving :)
"A queen, Janie, is a WIFE"-- so does it work in reverse, too? "A wife is a QUEEN"? Please, Jack, oh please say it's true!
ReplyDeleteoh my, those pigtails. and prayers. it's so encouraging to watch you love them so extravagantly, friend.
ReplyDeleteGod smiles in your house, and I can feel the warmth of it here in mine. Blessings to you and your precious family.
ReplyDelete