Cheerios

Cheerios, Cheerios, everywhere
On the floor in the car, in a bag, in your chair.

Perfect for snacking, fun in a book
Lights up your face, easy to squish.

One day our home, may be in less disarray.
But I’m so glad Cheerios are here for today.

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

Room on the yoga floor

Sundays I like attending a morning yoga class at the gym. But timing with a baby can be challenging. Today I was late. And the class was full. I stood in the entryway hoping to find a place for my yoga mat. But none stood out. Until one kind lady stood, moved her mat to the left, and motioned for me to come. She created space. The person to her right also shifted. And suddenly I was in. No longer in the entry way. In the class.

Sometimes we are the ones with a place already on the floor. Our water perfectly arranged. Block set out. In child’s pose. In those moments of belonging, may we remember to look for those in the entry way who need our encouragement. Who need to know there is space for them to join the practice.

Hello. Goodbye. Hello

A few weeks ago, I didn’t know how to stay home with my baby girl. Now, I don’t know how to leave her. Tomorrow I return to work, and it will be the most amount of time I’ve spent apart from her.

I’m not sure how to be a working mom. How to walk away from her smiles and arms. How to pump in a little room instead of feeding her and hearing her happy sounds.

But it helps (a little) to remember that a few months ago I didn’t know how to be a mom at all. And though I still have lots to learn, I’m learning. She’s helping. So are you, friends.

So baby girl, even though I have to leave for a time tomorrow, we will be okay. I’ll come back. Daddy will take good care of you.

This coming and going is a part of life. It is hard when the space inbetween coming and going is longer than desired. But the best part about goodbye is hello again.

Hello. Goodbye. Hello. And may God bless all the spaces and places around and between those words.

Surrender

It’s a bright sunny day in Central Florida. Ella and I took a nice walk this morning before her warning sounds begin. We stepped inside the house where her fussing turned to wails.  She had recently eaten.  So...that must mean nap time! I cuddled her. Turned on the white noise. Gave her a paci and watched as she fought sleep. Her little brow furrowed.  Then relaxed. Her face scrunched. Then soothed. Her eyes blinked open and then closed.  And she finally surrendered to sleep.

Surrender can be hard won.  

I wonder how often God has to lull me into surrender. How often He whispers calm into my spirit, soothing my anxious thoughts, gently nudging me toward the still waters where He longs to restore my soul. 

If babies need help relaxing their grip, can I be surprised that adults do too? That years of growth and wisdom teach us much, but at heart we still need our Father to shepherd us. To lead us to green pasture and to guide us safely home.