filled

If life was a cup and today was the water that filled it, my vessel would pouring out as fast as it filled. It overflows with beauty and wonder - the magic of ordinary life.

My day began twice. Once when my love, dressed and ready for work, came back beside me to pray and whisper his goodbye with a kiss. I am rarely conscious for those moments when the sky is dark and the house is quiet. But, today I was there- in body and spirit. Just for the moment, for after he was gone I was too, my mind back in dreamland weaving wild tales.

My day began again when through my sleep I heard a small hand knocking on my bedroom door. The door opened, the sound of it slowly sliding across the top of the carpet. I am blind upon waking, my eyes- my glasses- beside me. A blurry little figure, morning hair wildly askew walked up and climbed in beside me. She begged me to open my eyes. I couldn't, not yet. She was patient, for just a moment or two. And then it began, wrestle-mania; her latest craze. I simply try to protect my head.

Her hair truly is a thing of art. I tuck her in at night with smooth, gleaming locks. Sometime in the night, however,  a small squirrel enters the room and weaves himself a warm berth of her nut brown hair. Before she awakens, he escapes back to the snowy yard. And when she awakes, well, we marvel at the latest creation. A tangle spray and big brush and lots of screaming later the coiffure is complete. Crazy squirrel.

It was a snowy morning. Small, determined flakes- teeming in number- marched toward the ground. They worked quickly; the air, the ground, the trees, covered in a blanket of white. I am thankful for windows. I am so warm inside these walls while through the glass I can observe the most spectacular view.

We were prepared for a snow day. A trip to Target yesterday yielded a bag of supplies that waited for us. Boxes of Peeps, cornstarch and coconut oil.  In between bites of breakfast she begged to begin crafting. We cleaned up our plates then pulled out our supplies. Playdough made from Peeps; a Pinterest success story. Hours passed as we formed names and shapes and finally, the castle to beat all castles.

The snow stopped just as we made sandwiches and climbed up together to the table. The sky lost its white and the air filled with a sad gray. It settled on my heart and I took a deep breath- fighting its weight. A grilled cheese with bacon for me and peanut butter for her. The music of Frozen the soundtrack of our mealtime.

Four discarded couch pillow forms, three blankets and various chairs, washcloths and towels are gathered and another castle is created. "Its two-castle Tuesday" we declare as she ducks into hidden caves to small for one of my legs to fit. She finds comfort in small spaces.

A game of Chutes and Ladders, and then another. We each win a round and celebrate. I would be satisfied with a hug but she seems to require another round of wrestle-mania. I simply try to protect my head.

She does her school work with diligence and wonder. Pigtails bob as she reads aloud. She is on my lap and I open my eyes wider, I don't want to miss this. The smell of her hair, her bright eyes taking in new concepts, the way she writes her name with a heart, the sound of her voice spelling out t-u-l-i-p as "tolep". Phonetic spelling is ever so fun. I don't want to miss a minute of this day, the way she looks at the bulb garden on the table; studies its contents. She moves her head all around to see each angle. "There's another tulip," she says with wonder then counts the blooms. Purple hyacinths fill their air with their heady perfume.

The sun came out, lifting the gray skied heaviness from the air and my heart. The wind whips into view- swirling sparkling white flakes through the golden air. Streaming in the window, honeyed rays shine through Evie's pigtails as she sits on the couch, her head in her hands. Grandma and Evie watch videos of newborn babies on YouTube. I hear a tiny cry and listen to the discussion that ensues, Grandma describing the purpose of umbilical cords. Evie is filled with questions.

The afternoon blurs along...life has a way of gaining speed with each passing moment. It is good...then requires a bit more courage to proceed. But, there is good in every moment and I wish not to waste a single one. Each a gift, given once and for a purpose.

I might as well confess that my courage waned as the evening progressed. There have been moments in which I have completely forgotten about courage and the gift I might be squandering in my immediate discontent with circumstance.

And there is grace. Grace to cover my sinful, selfish, frustrated heart. Grace like thick, white snow.