In a nutshell, that's me. Ready to be done fighting tirelessly for a joy that seems elusive, clinging to a truth that I know to be truer, much truer, than it feels.
I lay down my armor and sink into my soft bed, glad that I thought to change the sheets today. A clean bed is much more restful to a weary body with an aching gut.
Andy is asleep. He works so hard to provide for our family and the long days take a toll. I'd much rather have him awake, so I could listen to the story of his day or share my rambley thoughts. But instead, I smile to hear him laugh out loud in his sleep. How I wish I could join his dream and laugh along.
Evie is in her bed, but very much awake. She tells stories and laughs. Her voice is music to my ears. I let her nap too long today, but I was enjoying myself and didn't want to interrupt the magical sound of silence. In that time I was taking a trip down memory lane in preparation for a birthday celebration blog post, sorting through pictures from her very first breath up until yesterday, when she donned on winter gear for a trip to the store, There is much to remember, much to celebrate.
Evie and I took a walk today. She rode in the jogging stroller and I pushed her along a trail that wove through tall weeds, past a duck covered pond and through a some thick woods. I breathed in the heady scents of nature as we passed through each new place. She crinkled her nose and asked,"What is that smell?" We talked about how different things around us each produce a smell that, blended together, create the aroma of the area. I'm not sure she really understood. It didn't matter. I closed my eyes and remembered back to the days, oh so many years ago, when I ran barefoot through the woods behind my parents house or along the pond with my neighborhood friends, the air thick with the perfume of summer.The days before the weight of the world felt so heavy on my shoulders.
We walked past a garden full of blooms, the air filled with their sweetness. I closed my eyes and saw the row of roses that lined the walk at 321 North Humphrey; the sprawling 3 story house my grandparents filled with memories. In that moment, I could almost feel myself looking about the yard; seeing the screen porch there and the garage just beyond.
We arrived home just before the thick clouds opened and filled the world with an earthy smell and life sustaining drops. She danced through the garden, picking flowers that she gave to me with various well wishes, "Happy Birthday, mom!' "Happy Mothers Day!" "I love you, mom!". She wrapped her arms around my neck and smothered me with her kisses. How did she know that I needed this?
And we went inside and waited for daddy. She, filled with far too much energy for a small house in a rainstorm, and I, with dinner preparations and projects on my mind. And so we danced, our feet moving to the sound of Bobby Darin then Dean Martin. And then we ate, our simple supper ample enough to put some spring back into her dancing feet and the ache back in my tummy.
Daddy arrived. He backed Frosty the Sable into the driveway and joined us in the kitchen. There is much joy when we are greeted by his presence. Our little world feels complete.
The evening was short. It was late and tomorrow looms before us.
Stillness.
The curly topped girl in the other room has joined daddy in the land of nod. I listen to a car drive by, the squeak of our ceiling fan, the stillness, not sure that I'm ready to turn out the light just yet.
Here, in my little room, a battle rages. Where hope clings to a truth bigger than itself while the enemy pounds against it with fierceness. In the trenches I call to mind the beauty of the blessings of my day, cling to my Hope and Truth and pray for relief and rest, sweet rest.
A mighty fortress is our God,
A bulwark never failing;
Our helper He amid the flood
of mortal ills prevailing.
For still our ancient foe
doth seek to work us woe
his craft and power are great
and armed with cruel hate
on earth is not his equal
Did we in our own strength confide,
our striving would be losing,
were not the right man on our side,
the man of God's own choosing.
Dost ask who that may be?
Christ Jesus it is He,
Lord Sabaoth his name,
from age to age the same
and He must win the battle
-Martin Luther
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