Mama, help me

As my daughters personality emerges I’m noticing when she acts like herself and when she loses control.

When she cries uncontrollably it’s like she is saying “Mama, help me.  Something is wrong and I don’t know how to fix it.”

And of course we try. Are you hungry? Sleepy? Tummy hurting?  Do you need cuddles or perhaps a teether and a bit of Tylenol?

Finally there is a breakthrough. She sniffles, calms, smiles, and returns to herself.

I wonder, does this happen to adults sometimes? I hope we have better understanding and mastery over ourselves than a 7 month old, but perhaps we too have times where everything seems foggy and we know something isn’t right but can’t see how to fix it.

How wonderful are the people who see us when we don’t see ourselves.

Who reach out with a phone call, a meal, a hug.  Who offer a kind mirror reflecting back the person we are growing to be. Not perfect but deeply loved.

May we all have someone who will listen when we say, “Please, help me.”

We will make art

It’s a bold statement in a beautiful book called A Million Little Ways by Emily P Freeman.

I just finished the book and I wonder. How is this true for me?  It feels true. Courageous. Right. But in my stage of life,  I prioritize a shower and making sure my family eats.  I have little margin.  So when can I make art? (Background: in this book art is what we create with our lives as image bearers not simply what we can paint with a brush.)

I used to go to Starbucks on Sunday to write. Order a warm latte and sip slowly letting words flow.  I used to make time for art.  And I imagine one day naps will be more predictable and take place in her bed instead of my arms.  And I will find time for this again.

But today is hers.  I am her soft bed.  She is my art and I am her canvas.

And I look to our Master Artist to bless the work we are developing.  To show me how to live as an artist even now. And teach her to do the same.

Backpack Envy

She seemed so carefree. Strolling in a Summer dress and backpack.  Bringing back memories of college and summer days with friends.

I don’t want to go back to those days exactly. I’m grateful for my life, for the people in it and the things God has taught me along the way.

But still....something tugs my heart at the sight.

Perhaps it reminds of when I didn't feel old.  When I wasn't so tired.  When staying up until midnight was normal on the weekends.

It reminds me of when my grandparents were all still here, ready to join us for Christmas dinner, my cousins were closer, and Sabbath lunch with my parents was the standard.

I imagine in a few years I will look back fondly on these days. And all the unique joys and new growth they bring.

I am grateful for today.

I am hopeful for tomorrow.

And nostalgic for my backpack and the era it represents.

Photo by Tomáš Malík on Unsplash