What it's like right now
I took a frigid, slow walk to the mailbox the other evening after dinner. The crisp air and winter's profound silence beckoned beyond my ability to withstand, an ability already weakend by the flurry of noise and sensory overload within the walls.
A billion stars shouted the glory of my Lord against the deep blue expanse, calling my mind to His giant love for one so small as me. Those rare moments of just Him and me? A burst of abundance in the routine.
Then it happened. I huddled the mail to myself, turned back toward the house, and stopped dead in my tracks.
Our little home, decorated and lit up to minimalist perfection, was beautiful. I felt it, like a long lost friend I've been too afraid to fight for. My heart in my throat, I felt Christmas.
Joy, spirit, cheer, excitement, whatever you want to call it.
I'm happy, y'all. Though the difficulties of life remain, it found me. A feeling so all-encompassing that I honestly feel like I'm waiting for something big.
This is Advent, no? The breathless waiting. The sure, certain hope of faith.
My Savior came for me, and He will do it again.
For the first time in three years, it means what it should, this season. All of it rolled up into a big ball of festive. The house all done up like something I want to remember forever, get-togethers soon and aplenty, radio glued to holiday music, a looooong break from work, and Lawd child, the food. How I'm going to deliver on all the food promises I've made for the next few weeks is beyond me.
The boys are so excited, and for all our life's-not-about-stuff parenting advice through the years, they're practically salivating over the gift opening.
It's been quite the roller coaster with them here lately. Their bodies and brains shooting up like cornstalks in the summer, blowing past my knowledge of how to be a mom.
My sweet, smart, manipulative Trey. Some rough moments for sure, as he has jumped head first into the bottomless pit of friends mattering more than parents. It was bound to happen, sure as the magic spell of entitlement cast by the dern Toys R Us wish book.
And suddenly we're back to that helpless feeling, walking into the house fresh from the hospital, newborn in hand. What on earth do I do with this person?
Lesson learned: parenting never gets easier.
But my Trey and me, we have our moments too. I bring home hair gel or chicken tenders from Kroger, and he tackles me into a bear hug. Talking, just the two of us. Our shared love of board games. Those two minutes during our basketball games when I get on fire and he laughs at my nerdy girl trash talk. Cooking lessons and mastering the art of breaking eggs.
When it was time to get the Christmas tree fluffed up weeks ago, he came downstairs with me, CD player in hand. Blared the Christmas classics, singing up a storm, and positioned branches to his heart's content.
Lord, please don't let me forget that one.
I know we'll make it, and in the same breath I also know this is the beginning of a very long stretch of needing gentle and clear and constant mothering guidance from the Lord. And Giga and Nana. And anyone else who has any advice.
My loving, fun, intense Aden. God bless that boy, with Trey growing up and more inward, Aden has very willingly taken over the word count with gusto. How I love hearing what his mind can come up with, but sometimes I just have to hold my breath and close my eyes when he starts in again.
Hence the walk to the mailbox.
Lego heaven. It's what he calls his room. He's been collecting sets for a couple of years and how has approximately 16 trillion Legos. Give or take a few. Early on, the mistake was made of not keeping the pieces in their originating box, but just dumping them all together into a giant under-bed tote.
Almost all of the sets stayed alive for a while, then were destroyed by just regular life at our house. It happens. To everything we own. But anyway, the tote was full with pieces from pretty much every set he had. Nothing on the display shelf.
Aden decided he wants to build a set, this medium-sized ferry boat, and it took us four days because of having to look for such specific pieces in that confounded box. Of course he got frustrated and needed help, which led to a quick Mama ain't having this.
I bought clear food storage bowls, a dozen of them, and we spent several hours one day dividing up the 16 trillion pieces by color, a move that someone whose name I won't mention compared to putting lipstick on a pig.
Gotta love the support.
It's a genius solution, if I do say so myself, to a poor decision that can't be fixed. We've done three more sets since then, each taking maybe only an hour or two. It's not great, but it's better enough that Aden calls it Lego heaven.
And then he thrusts a Christmas piano book into my hands and carols up a storm while I play. All up in my feelings.
And Brandon? Well, it's basketball season. Nuff said.
No, really, he is under as much pressure as ever being a coach and a teacher and a dad and a husband, one who tries to follow Christ in everything and stands as an example to all around him. We pray daily for strength and wisdom and peace.
Which is what it's like right now. This life abounding in God's blessings. With enough trials to keep us strong, enough sorrow to keep us human, enough failure to keep us humble, enough success to keep us eager, enough friends to give us comfort, enough wealth to meet our needs.
Praise, praise the Lord.
A billion stars shouted the glory of my Lord against the deep blue expanse, calling my mind to His giant love for one so small as me. Those rare moments of just Him and me? A burst of abundance in the routine.
Then it happened. I huddled the mail to myself, turned back toward the house, and stopped dead in my tracks.
Our little home, decorated and lit up to minimalist perfection, was beautiful. I felt it, like a long lost friend I've been too afraid to fight for. My heart in my throat, I felt Christmas.
Joy, spirit, cheer, excitement, whatever you want to call it.
I'm happy, y'all. Though the difficulties of life remain, it found me. A feeling so all-encompassing that I honestly feel like I'm waiting for something big.
This is Advent, no? The breathless waiting. The sure, certain hope of faith.
My Savior came for me, and He will do it again.
For the first time in three years, it means what it should, this season. All of it rolled up into a big ball of festive. The house all done up like something I want to remember forever, get-togethers soon and aplenty, radio glued to holiday music, a looooong break from work, and Lawd child, the food. How I'm going to deliver on all the food promises I've made for the next few weeks is beyond me.
The boys are so excited, and for all our life's-not-about-stuff parenting advice through the years, they're practically salivating over the gift opening.
It's been quite the roller coaster with them here lately. Their bodies and brains shooting up like cornstalks in the summer, blowing past my knowledge of how to be a mom.
My sweet, smart, manipulative Trey. Some rough moments for sure, as he has jumped head first into the bottomless pit of friends mattering more than parents. It was bound to happen, sure as the magic spell of entitlement cast by the dern Toys R Us wish book.
And suddenly we're back to that helpless feeling, walking into the house fresh from the hospital, newborn in hand. What on earth do I do with this person?
Lesson learned: parenting never gets easier.
But my Trey and me, we have our moments too. I bring home hair gel or chicken tenders from Kroger, and he tackles me into a bear hug. Talking, just the two of us. Our shared love of board games. Those two minutes during our basketball games when I get on fire and he laughs at my nerdy girl trash talk. Cooking lessons and mastering the art of breaking eggs.
When it was time to get the Christmas tree fluffed up weeks ago, he came downstairs with me, CD player in hand. Blared the Christmas classics, singing up a storm, and positioned branches to his heart's content.
Lord, please don't let me forget that one.
I know we'll make it, and in the same breath I also know this is the beginning of a very long stretch of needing gentle and clear and constant mothering guidance from the Lord. And Giga and Nana. And anyone else who has any advice.
My loving, fun, intense Aden. God bless that boy, with Trey growing up and more inward, Aden has very willingly taken over the word count with gusto. How I love hearing what his mind can come up with, but sometimes I just have to hold my breath and close my eyes when he starts in again.
Hence the walk to the mailbox.
Lego heaven. It's what he calls his room. He's been collecting sets for a couple of years and how has approximately 16 trillion Legos. Give or take a few. Early on, the mistake was made of not keeping the pieces in their originating box, but just dumping them all together into a giant under-bed tote.
Almost all of the sets stayed alive for a while, then were destroyed by just regular life at our house. It happens. To everything we own. But anyway, the tote was full with pieces from pretty much every set he had. Nothing on the display shelf.
Aden decided he wants to build a set, this medium-sized ferry boat, and it took us four days because of having to look for such specific pieces in that confounded box. Of course he got frustrated and needed help, which led to a quick Mama ain't having this.
I bought clear food storage bowls, a dozen of them, and we spent several hours one day dividing up the 16 trillion pieces by color, a move that someone whose name I won't mention compared to putting lipstick on a pig.
Gotta love the support.
It's a genius solution, if I do say so myself, to a poor decision that can't be fixed. We've done three more sets since then, each taking maybe only an hour or two. It's not great, but it's better enough that Aden calls it Lego heaven.
And then he thrusts a Christmas piano book into my hands and carols up a storm while I play. All up in my feelings.
And Brandon? Well, it's basketball season. Nuff said.
No, really, he is under as much pressure as ever being a coach and a teacher and a dad and a husband, one who tries to follow Christ in everything and stands as an example to all around him. We pray daily for strength and wisdom and peace.
Which is what it's like right now. This life abounding in God's blessings. With enough trials to keep us strong, enough sorrow to keep us human, enough failure to keep us humble, enough success to keep us eager, enough friends to give us comfort, enough wealth to meet our needs.
Praise, praise the Lord.
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