A Mother's Day 5 Minute Friday

I bounce Luisa, cradling her tight against my heart.  Double ear infections all week and she refuses to nurse.  She wails and bucks and is frantic with pain and hunger.  So I dance the floor back and forth, my whole body up and down, working, bouncing to bring her peace.  She stills for only a time before arching her back with a scream.  I move her to my shoulder where she quiets momentarily.  I long to comfort her but her ears are too sore.

When minutes turn to hours in the dark of the house, when everyone is dreaming and the walls swell with the collective slumber breath of the rest of the family, I wander, "Will I sleep tonight?"  But eventually Luisa calms, receives comfort, and lays down gently next to her Honey Bunny.  I tiptoe back to bed, slide between the cool sheets, and allow every muscle to relax.  As I fall asleep I pray that tomorrow she will nurse, make more wet diapers, be relieved of pain, find comfort in my arms.

In the middle of the night, when you pace the floor with a feverish baby, it feels lonely.  You envy the deep sleep all around you.  It is silent but for the whimpers and cries that cause great concern.  Those midnight sickness hours are a private affair between you and baby.  These are the hours that make you mother.  You stay awake while everyone else sleeps.  You comfort, worry, soothe, administer liquid relief, sing, pace, bounce.  This is motherhood.  It can be a lonely gig. 

"He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young."  Isaiah 40:11

 

In this season of ear infections and tantrums and school decisions and all that is small children, I like to believe I am not alone.  In the middle of the night I envision Him cradling me as I cradle her.  I picture resting my head on His heart, receiving comfort there.  My Father God can be Mother too.  For it is in Him I find comfort and relief. 

 

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Saving my 5 Minute {and then some} entry for Mother's Day.  Find the prompts and link up here each Friday:

 





5 Minute Friday - Remember

(courtesy Jill Aldridge photography)

I am only 33 and yet there are years gone from my memory.  Being young newlyweds is fuzzy now, 11 years in the past.  Certain events during that time spring brightly to life - hosting our first party with our brand-new ice cream maker in the bath tub, churning with rock salt and Oreos.  Our one year anniversary trip to the Hill Country.  But the intensity of emotions that characterized that time fade to the background and what is left are clouded memories of events and places. 

As a young mother I want the older generation to remember the details of new motherhood, offering camaraderie and perspective along the journey.  Yet they offer me strawberry visions of sweet babies grown too quickly.  I understand.  It fades.  The sleepless nights, the angst, and worry are replaced by nostalgia as grown children sprout wings and fly away too quickly. 

So Sarah - remember.  Remember the exhaustion and endless labor that carried on long after you shed your hospital gown for yoga pants and old t-shirts.

When you see the young mother in the supermarket, remember and offer to take her groceries to her car.  Hold the baby carrier as she puts cream and sugar in her coffee.  Divert your eyes or smile lovingly, knowingly as her toddler throws that tantrum.  Stop up your mouth against comments like "You sure have your hands full," and offer instead "How blessed you are!"  Knock on her door, her favorite latte in hand.  When she invites you in, march to her sink and insist on doing the dishes.  She will not be embarrassed because you love her so.  Then look her right in the eye and with deep conviction say, "You're a good momma.  I see it.  You ARE a good momma."

 

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Join me over at Lisa-Jo's on the prompt, "remember?"  I was inspired by the older gentleman who offered to hold Luisa's carrier at the coffee shop today.  His kindness fed my soul. 

 



5 Minute Friday - Home

Where is home?  Is it amongst the calves in their holding pens, with their rough tongues and endless slobber?  Is it petting their heads and naming them silly names?  Is it riding my bike down the paved road to the sign and back, looking out on green fields, too afraid to venture off the path?  Is it up on the rooftop, reading a book, barefoot and free? 

Where is home?  Is it walking the neighborhood amongst Alabama maples, dogwoods, and azaleas?  Is it Edgewood creamery, all sweaty in tank tops and summer shorts? 

Where is home?  Is it amongst the green of Florida with ferns and palms and Spanish moss?  Is it along the St. John's river or beachside as children collect shells?

Where is home?  Is it nose against neck, holding his hand in the dark?  Is it over candlelight, talking, talking.  Is it in his brown eyes?

Where is home?  Is it at the dinner table consuming a home-made meal as we practice conversation, teach lessons, sit together?  Is it on a picnic blanket with exposed toes and warm bread, cheese, sweet strawberries, and fancy carbonated drinks?  Is it in the smell of their hair, the warmth of their cheeks?

Where is home?  Is it somewhere else altogether?  A place of no worry.  Of streets made of gold.  Where all will be made right and all will make sense.  A place of light and sun and peace.  Where joy reigns undisturbed. 

Where is home? 

 

 

And faith is, in the end, a kind of homesickness – for a home we have never visited but have never once stopped longing for. – Philip Yancey, Disappointment with God

 

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Link up with me over at Lisa-Jo's blog?  The prompt is "home" and you are free to write for 5 minutes, unedited....

  

5 Minute Friday - What Mama Did

I remember her tenderness.  When we were sick she was tender, bringing us orange juice and warm washcloths for our heads.  Tough as nails the rest of the time though.  There were high expectations for our behavior.  Saturdays were cleaning days.  We were to help or get lost in the neighborhood.  Mama was going to get that house clean.

But in the evenings she would read to us in a sing-song voice.  She wasn't one for creating silly character voices from the book.  Her voice was soft and consistent, little more than a whisper.  It lulled me to sleep.  As I rested in her arms, I wanted the story to never end.

Then there were her hands on Sunday mornings.  Too old to go to the nursery and too young to follow the sermon, I rested my head on her lap during the church service.  My mama would lift her hand and using her fingertips, lightly stroke my forehead.  Gently from one end to the other, then back again.  I would close my eyes, often falling asleep.  I smelled her perfume, never too strong, soft and feminine.  There were times she would cease her caress and lay her hand on her knee, just in front of my face.  I would study her hand as the pastor continued his long discourse.  Her nails were cut short, her skin like ivory colored tissue paper spread over large purple veins.  Those prominent veins were fascinating to this little girl.  I played with them as I rested on her lap.  I pushed them down and they popped right back up.  I followed the vein's course with one finger.  Maybe if I pushed with several fingers  the vein would stay down?  Despite my best effort, ,y finger tips were too small and there were gaps in the vein's course that remained plump with blood.  I released my tiny fingers and tried again, this time with eight fingers.  Often she would lift her hand from under my play, resuming the gentle movement across my forehead.  Go to sleep.  Settle down.  Back and forth, lightly over my skin, pulling my hair gently back

 

 

This is what I remember - washcloths and orange juice, quiet readings, and gentle touch.  Decades later, when I am weary or sad I long to lay my head down and feel her gentle, repetitive caress.  Settle down.  Go to sleep.  Cease your worry.  Rest here.

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Join me in writing for 5 minutes on the prompt "What Mama Did?"  If you have time, read some of the link-ups and Lisa-Jo's week long guest posts on the prompt, "What Mama Did."  It is encouraging to read through the memories of so many.  God's grace is manifested in time.  With time,  imperfections fade away while LOVE remains.  No mother is perfect but grace, grace, grace - what seems to be remembered is LOVE.


5 Minute Friday - Afraid

Severe weather alerts from Alabama popped up on my Facebook feed all day on Wednesday.  I notified our tenants to head to the interior bathroom and place a mattress over their head should a tornado take its destructive path down our neighborhood streets.

I know fear.  It's an enemy of mine.  I remember it as a child, sitting in a bathtub with my mother and brothers, a mattress over our heads as we sang, "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands."  My dad raced around the house looking out the windows for dark funnel clouds.  He wasn't there in the bathtub and that made me most afraid.

I was afraid on April 27, 2011 as we hunkered in a closet in my mother's house, hiding from the tornado that ripped through Tuscaloosa and was now headed our way.  We fed the children Easter candy while I wondered if a tree falling on the roof would give us any advance notice, or if we would be caught off guard, unable to hunker over the children.

I fear most when I am least in control. 

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I guess this is a Debbie Downer post but alas, it's what came to mind when I read "afraid."  Join me in writing for 5 minutes over at Lisa-Jo's blog?

5 Minute Friday - Cherish

If I’m honest with you and share not what I’m supposed to say but what I feel right now, I would tell you that I cherish this moment right here.  This quiet house.  A train whistles far away on this cold morning but my house is completely still, a hushed quiet in my living room space.  The children are at school.  The baby sleeping and blessedly, it is oh so hushed.

I cherish dark chocolate with sea salt, eaten slowly, rolled not bitten.  I cherish Cliff Holt’s fried chicken with its paper thin batter fried crispy and brown.  I cherish eating it in a corner table by the window, across from my husband at Little Savannah restaurant.  I cherish the condiments on a cheese tray – the walnuts and dried fruits, the honey, and citrus crunchy things I cannot name.  I cherish a glass of red wine, with a meal or in the evening.  Room temperature while sitting on the couch reading a nice book.

I cherish the fuzzy petals of my African violet.  I stand real close to see their hairs and the sparkle of the purple.  I cherish my loosened limbs after a long walk.  I cherish the hum of a dishwasher in a freshly cleaned house.  I cherish the swirls of creamer in coffee first thing in the morning.  I cherish every last drop of said coffee before my day begins.

And of course, I cherish them.  With their rosy cheeks and uncontrollable giggling.  Their heads resting on my chest, in my arms, all snuggled up.  But there are days I need to cherish those things that do not belong to them.  Those refreshing moments that recreate me into a mother more at peace. 

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Join me in writing for 5 minutes over at Lisa-Jo's blog?  Click the button below to link up.... 

5 Minute Friday - Stay

I would like to stay in this cocoon of sameness.  Right here in our 1950's bungalow.  With the predictable schedule of preschool, Mother's Day Out, Bible Study Fellowship, and mornings spent burying my nose in  soft, newborn hair. 

I would like to stay under blankets of comforting knowledge of what lies ahead, nuzzled under soft cotton, safe from the frigid air of uncertainty.  But it's time to get out of bed, peek my toes out and touch the frigid floor.  It's time to go.  I can no longer stay tucked in tight.  So I will wrap my feet in warm house slippers, pour  a cup of coffee, and open my window to a whole new world.  Light will bathe a new home in a new place.  I will step outside and breathe fresh air, the stuffiness of sameness escaping through the front door.  I will break out of the cocoon and unfold my wings in a brand new place. 

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Just a little pep talk for our upcoming move.  What comes to your mind when you hear "stay?"  Will you join me in writing about it for 5 minutes over on Lisa-Jo's blog?



Blooming Where We are Planted

When I was a small child, my mother was an avid cross-stitcher.  Her handiwork adorned our home in places that offered ample time for contemplation - the bathroom, beside the kitchen sink, above a light switch.  Sayings included, "We grow old too soon and wise too late."  "Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels" (appropriately placed in the kitchen for motivation - this was the ONLY discussion of weight in our home), and the beautifully adorned, "Bloom Where You Are Planted." 

Right now, this family of 5 is planted firmly, solidly in Alabama.  In a quaint bubble of a community that appears idyllic and immune to the world's poisonous problems.  We moved here in 2007 a family of 3, one member nestled snugly within me.

 

And in just 5 1/2 years we have Bloomed - now a family of 5.  We walked in our front door naive to how parenthood would rock us, change us, grow us closer to Him.  In just 2 short months we will pull up our roots and leave like this:

{courtesy of Jill Aldridge photography}

 

A family of 5.  Time to plant ourselves somewhere new, even if it's just for a short time.  Through His grace and provision may we Bloom there too.  For His glory and for His purposes.

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Linking up over on Lisa-Jo's blog for 5 Minute Friday.  Want to join me on the prompt "roots?"  Click the icon below:

 

5 Minute Friday - Join

This week I joined the ranks of minivans and SUVs stuffed tight with car seats and breakfast bars and children woken too early. Of car pooling moms and dads desperately trying to make it on time while keeping smiles on their faces and prayers in their hearts.  In the afternoon I sat in the car pool line with Sophia's number displayed prominently in the windshield.  Little man was asleep in the backseat, his only chance for a nap in this new schedule of school, backpacks, lunch room numbers, and pigtails.  As I sat 8th car back looking for my eldest, then locating her sitting still and quiet waiting for her momma, I realized this is a significant milestone.  I've joined the car pool line and there's no going back.

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Join me this Friday in writing for just 5 minutes on the prompt "join?"  Check out some beautiful writing over on Lisa-Jo's site by clicking the button below:

 



5 Minute Friday - Stretch

{30 weeks!!!}

My body's been stretching lately.  My skin stretching tight over an ever-expanding shield, the haven which we call "womb."  Inside she stretches too - arms and legs stretching and kicking from within. 

Soon she will stretch to the womb's limit and she will be packed in tight.  Then the fall months will roll around and she will greet the world with one powerful stretch of limb and body.  She will reach out into a world with enough room to grow, stretch, become, and be.  May she know this freedom and never be packed in too tight again.  May she be surrounded by those who allow for the stretching of her creativity, her intellect, her sense of self.  May they never box her in but rather give her room to be what she was created to be - God's own sweet daughter - stretching every muscle, every synapses, to fully live in the space she has been given.  Never again to be packed in too tight. 

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Join me in 5 Minute Friday before Friday is officially over?  The prompt is "stretch" and you can link up over on Lisa-Jo's fabulous blog:



5 Minute Friday - Story

{A little gem I ran across today.  How did I forget what a chunky baby Vincent was?  And how little Sophia was when she became a big sister?}



I spent a good part of my afternoon sorting through 3 years worth of pictures, all in an effort to finish up Vincent’s baby book.  And it occurred to me, creating a story worth remembering takes effort.  Sleepless nights, money spent, hours doing for them when I might want to do for me, slowing my pace to match theirs.  This is the stuff of their story so far. 

Making a baby book, blogging about milestones, journaling their sayings, writing of them in my mommy notebook.  Why the effort?  Why the hours spent sorting through pictures?  These pictures, these anecdotes, these thoughts will only represent a small fraction of their life story.  So why do mothers everywhere carefully preserve each milestone, dragging feisty toddlers to picture booths across the world?  Why?  Maybe because pictures, baby books, and blog entries are the beginning of their story.  Maybe they will be the roots their children someday look back upon for insight.  Maybe they will serve as assurance that someone cared.  Their lives were and are of utmost significance.  There are people who delight in pouring over their pictures for hours, just to see their chubby baby faces with food smeared from mouth to ear.  They are wanted and of great importance in this world.  They are watched over.  Delighted in. 

And yet this mother love, this careful recording of their story, this attention to the details, is nothing compared to the love and attention they will find in Him.  The great story He has planned for them.

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne?  Though she may forget, I will not forget you!  See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.”  Isaiah 49:15-16

“From heaven the Lord looks down and sees all mankind; from his dwelling place he watches all who live on earth – he who forms the hearts of all, who considers everything they do.” Psalm 33:13-15

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Linking up late over at Lisa-Jo's.  Join me in writing for 5 minutes on the prompt, "story?"  Just click on the button below:

5 Minute Friday - See

There are days I cannot see over the mountain of dishes that fill my sink.  Past the peaks of clothes that balance precariously on top of the washer and dryer.  I cannot see past the repetitive corrections and lessons that need to be taught over and over.  Past the Thomas trains scattered over the floor that pierce my bare feet on the way to the laundry hamper to grab more clothes for the next load.  Cannot see past the 15 years of higher education.  Cannot see past this next night on call.  Cannot see past the next unknown.

Can I just muster the strength to lift my head?  Can I strain my neck to peer over the mountains of clothes, toys, dishes, and towels that obstruct the view?  Will this work in the fields of motherhood and residency reap a bountiful harvest someday?  And I know the answer before I ask the question.  We are guaranteed nothing but His presence, His peace.  But I still like to imagine what might lie over the heap of tediousness.  Holidays with children, their spouses, and grandchildren.  Matriarch and Patriarch standing in the kitchen taking it all in.  Their children - secure, loved, loving, and contributing – in right relationship with one another.  A career - patriarch grey, operating, teaching - challenging his students - much loved by faculty, students, and patients.  Matriarch -  home bustling with people, warm tea, hot coffee, books, and a home orderly and welcoming.  It is the dream, the hope that keeps us moving forward.  And the promises – that we are never alone, that all is but passing and all can be used for His good, that He sees the desires of our hearts.

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What comes to your mind when you read the word, "see."  Will you write about it for 5 minutes and link up over at gypsymama?

5 Minute Friday - True Identity

May I see your I.D. please?” asks the efficient, friendly cashier at Party City.  I hold up my driver’s license to verify that I am, indeed, the person listed on my credit card.  She quickly scans my “IDENTITY” l- aid bare right there on my blue driver’s license.  The tiny DMV photograph of me 8 months pregnant, my height, my fudged pre-pregnancy weight, my address, my restrictions.  My IDENTITY defined in numbers and a distorted image.  This is our society.  This is our natural bent.  To judge others IDENTITY based on numbers, images, and the neighborhoods in which they live.

Around Easter our pastor spoke on the resurrected body that believers in and followers of Jesus Christ will someday possess.  With an air of curiosity and caution he shared that the Bible has little to say about our resurrected bodies but that much could be learned from Jesus’ resurrected body.  Based on His body, we learn that our own resurrected, physical bodies will look very different from the ones we possess now (Jesus was unrecognizable on the road to Emmaus).  Yet, it will be something about our spirit that will eventually give away our IDENTITY.  We will be recognized not by how we look but by who we are on the inside.  Seems fitting when we remember that God was never really too concerned about our outside anyway.  “The Lord does not look at the things man looks at.  Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart (1 Samuel 16:7).”

I love to imagine reunions in heaven.  And I love the idea that our physical, new bodies will be so different that they confuse others but that our spirits will give us away.  I know many people whose numbers and images meet with criticism here on Earth.  I certainly criticize my own a good bit of the time.  Yet our spirits are more beautiful than those celebrity faces found on the cover of People magazine.  And some day our souls’ IDENTITY will shine radiant in our resurrected bodies.  I will recognize those I love by what I cherished in them all along - who they were on the inside.  And they will shine radiant, beautiful.

So today I think I will cultivate my inside - hoping that someday it will become my one great IDENTITY.  And as for my children - may the beauty of their insides outshine their physical appearance.  May they know that their IDENTITY rests in so much more than numbers and images…..

Linking up today over at www.thegyspymama.com with the prompt "identity."  Will you join me too?

5 Minute Friday - GRIT

{This picture has nothing to do with the post but I ran across it the other day and wanted to post it.  Feeling a little lonesome for this baby boy - he's getting so big now.}

Parenting is not for the faint of heart, the easily scared, the queasy of stomach.  Parenting is for those with grit, substance, perseverance, and character.  If you are curious as to whether or not you possess this “grit,” take a trip to Wal-mart with your children around lunch time.  Don’t feed them before you go and foolishly bring only one toy.  Watch the sibling rivalry turn heads in the Subway as they fight over who gets to sit in the high chair – the baby doll toy or the 2 ½ year old brother.  She will become shrilly because this is what she does when she’s hungry and he will cry because she is shrilly.  And I will order two kids meals and grit my teeth as the sandwich artist asks entirely too many questions.  At this point I just need the sandwiches.  Don’t care if their toasted.  Any cheese will do.  Do you really have to ask about the veggies?  Sandwiches please before someone starts swinging. 

It takes grit to get on your hands and knees later in the lunch to mop up the chocolate milk little sister spilled.  And when you see that it splashed on the elderly ladies foot behind you, it takes grit to wipe off her shoes while still on your hands and knees.  It takes grit to hold your tongue when the lady has no words of forgiveness for little sister who just apologized five times.  It takes grit to settle disputes and mop up milk all the while remembering to teach about repentence, forgiveness, and grace.   All at the lunch table in the middle of Wal-mart.  It takes grit…..

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Linking up late tonight.  Want to join me in writing for 5 minutes on "grit?"  Hop on over to GypsyMama....

5 Minute Friday - TRUST

Rather than saying “Trust me!” when questioned, Sophia has developed the habit of declaring, “Believe in me, momma!”  “Sophia, was Jake really in school today?”  “Believe in me momma!  Jake was there today.”  It’s an interesting lesson in semantics.  Are trust and believe interchangeable?  Why has she associated these words as synonyms?  The pairing of them leads me to believe she has learned them at Bible Study Fellowship or church.  As in, “We need to trust and believe in Jesus.”  Yet it still leaves me wondering, are they REALLY one in the same thing?

I believed in God for many years before I actually “trusted” Him.  Trusting was an investment, a risk.  As in, trusting in His goodness in the middle of hardship.  Trust followed my belief and drew me deeper into relationship.  Trust felt scary at times, belief safe in comparison.  Trust is renewed day by day.  I pray that as I trust Him, He will “show the wonder of {His} great love, {He} who saves by {His} right hand those who take refuge in {Him} from their foes.  Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings (Psalm 17:7-8).”   He is worthy of my belief and my trust.  So today, may I take the next step – trusting in Him in all the situations that come my way….

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 Join me in writing for 5 minutes on "trust" over at GypsyMama?  Or maybe just click over and enjoy some fantastic writing....

5 Minute Friday - AWAKE

{We are AWAKE and snuggled in on this cold morning.}

Our lesson last Sunday at church was a reminder to stay awake to God’s purposes for our lives (Romans 13:11-14) and this week I’ve attempted to be more AWAKE.  I’m often lulled to mental snooze-land with the hypnosis of the computer screen.  I’m often “spaced out” into mental oblivion by mindless children’s cartoons.  I’m often slumbering too late in the morning, not AWAKE to what He would like to teach me. 


So, I’ve chosen days this week to keep the laptop, not me, in sleep mode.  To be busy with my hands during morning cartoons.  To turn the TV completely off the rest of the day.  But waking up early?  This discipline is sporadic at best these days.  Vincent wakes up at 6:30 and 5:30 seems too early.  Yet an hour in the morning without little hands, little needs, little pleads provides the perfect opportunity to be most AWAKE to His purposes for my day.  AWAKE, AWAKE, AWAKE.  I need to AWAKE.

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Are you AWAKE and want to join me in linking up over at GypsyMama's 5 Minute Friday?  Just click here:

5 Minute Friday - ROAR

I have an inner roar, do you?  It’s the encapsulated roar of my heart when someone is mean to my child.  It’s the ferocious roar of pain when mean words are spoken.  It’s the timid roar of uncertainty when I’ve lost my way.

But the roar I most fear is the roar of agitation.  The roar of aggravation that parts from my lips when they will not obey and I’ve lost the temperance to teach.  The nip of my sharp teeth into their tender hearts with the harsh tone of my snarl.  This is the roar I dread.  This is the roar I guard against.  This is the roar I must “take captive…to make obedient to Christ. (2 Corinthians 10:5).”

Momma roars - all at once protective, perceptive, and piercing…. 

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So glad to be back with 5 Minute Fridays.  Will you join me in writing for 5 minutes on the prompt, "roar."  You can link up here:

A Weekend Away with the Girls...

Sometimes I imagine a getaway weekend with my dearest of friends.  All of us together in one crazy weekend away from husbands and kids, jobs and responsibilities.  A boutique hotel.  Fancy dinners.  Shopping.  Laying in the sun.  The funny thing is that they wouldn’t know each other and the only common denominator would appear to be me.  But this isn’t quite true.  For as I study the women who bless me with their friendship, I realize that although they are scattered across I10 and I20 connecting Alabama to Texas and although they became my friends at different points in my life, they all have a few things in common.
 

They are fiercely strong.

Independent.

Intelligent.

And Deep.

They are funny.

Quirky.

Wise.

And kind.

They are teachers.

Confidants.

Encouragers.

And Friends.

I am thankful for every one of them.  And someday.  Someday.  I will gather them all together and tell them how special they are not just to me but to so many.  How they enrich lives and make people smile.  Until that time I will dream.  Of a getaway in Savannah, New Orleans, or New York.  San Francisco, Prince Edward Island, Boston, or The Florida Keys…..  Can you see it, my friends?  Wouldn’t we have a grand time?

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Today's 5 Minute prompt over at GypsyMama was "On Friends."  Will you join me in writing for 5 minutes?

In Real Life

In real life my bathroom has mold and I have no motivation to clean it.

In real life my kids sometimes watch too much TV in the morning.  I offer words of frustration rather than encouragement.  I worry about things that really do not matter.  I do not pray as often as I should.

In real life there are days that never seem to end and I daydream about marching into the hospital and demanding my husband back. 
In real life fast food works.

In real life they throw tantrums.  In real life, she calls me a scallywag and a mean octopus (see above about too much TV).  In real life his nose never stops running and I use my hands to clean it because I never have a tissue.

In real life there are people who need to see our real life.  Not our blog life.  Not our shiny persona.  Just the messy, struggling creature we all can be.  In real life.

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Keeping the time limit and keeping it real today over at GypsyMama.  Join me in writing about "in real life?"

Older

Older.  Growing older is a blessing.  I raise an eyebrow at those lamenting age, wondering if they consider the alternative.  We cannot freeze time and time is what we crave.  And older is just the consumption of time.  So we are blessed, blessed to grow older.  Blessed to consume time with those we love. 

But as I type I realize that older brings with it a glimmer of sadness too.  I DO want to freeze time when I pack away the pink floral, size 6 months dress.  The overalls and sleeping gowns.  Freeze time when she walks into Kindergarten.  Freeze time when he dons his first t-ball uniform.  Freeze time. 

Time is a conundrum.  Growing older both sweet and sour to our palate. Sheldon Vanauken, in reaction to a letter from C.S. Lewis on eternity, describes our battle with time best when he states, “Then, if we complain of time and take such joy in the seemingly timeless moment, what does that suggest?  It suggests that we have not always been or will not always be purely temporal creatures.  It suggests that we were created for eternity. (Sheldon Vanauken, A Severe Mercy, p.203).”

So when I hear “older” I am filled with both gratitude for the blessing and longing for its extinction. 

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Join me for 5 Minute Friday on the prompt "older?"  Not feeling it today?  Then maybe just click over and read a few at GypsyMama.  By the way, your time is well spent reading Gypsy Mama's beautiful words of truth and encouragement.