I'm still looking up

When I look into your eyes

It's like watching the night sky

Or a beautiful sunrise

Well there's so much they hold

And just like them old stars

I see that you've come so far

To be right where you are

How old is your soul?

I won't give up on us

Even if the skies get rough

I'm giving you all my love

I'm still looking up

And when you're needing your space

To do some navigating

I'll be here patiently waiting

To see what you find

'Cause even the stars they burn

Some even fall to the earth

We've got a lot to learn

God knows we're worth it

No, I won't give up

I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily

I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make

Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use the tools and gifts

We got yeah, we got a lot at stake

And in the end,

You're still my friend at least we didn't tend

For us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn

We had to learn, how to bend without the world caving in

I had to learn what I got, and what I'm not

And who I am

I won't give up on us

Even if the skies get rough

I'm giving you all my love

I'm still looking up

I won't give up on us

God knows I'm tough, he knows 

We got a lot to learn

God knows we're worth it

I won't give up on us

Even if the skies get rough

I'm giving you all my love

I'm still looking up...

The midnight hour

There is something about the stillness of nightfall that lends itself to deep thinking.  When the rest of the world is fast asleep, the fog lifts and clarity settles into my bones.  All of the thoughts and anxieties that have been zooming around my brain quiet.  The only thing remaining in that sacred space is the truth.  

Last night I woke to my little one's face peering over the side of the bed.  "Mama?  Can I come snuggle with you?"  I looked back and saw pink footy pajamas & the sweetest face staring back at me, searching mine for the answer she wanted.  What was there to possibly say in that moment except for of course, climb up.  I shifted over and made room for her.  Before I could even give her a kiss, she was asleep again.  

We lay there in the bed together, belly to belly, both of us completely content.  Every night for months, we lay in this exact same position while Alaina was still nursing.  For many moms the middle of the night feedings are torture.  Me?  I loved them.  In those moments, it felt like there was no one in the world but us.  I used to stare at her with wonder, completely in awe of the fact that my very imperfect self created this oh-so-perfect baby.  Last night I marveled once again at the perfect miracle next to me.

It amazes me that the tiny baby who used to fit in the crook of my arm has grown into a long and lanky little girl whose feet are now even with my knees. Spindly arms threw themselves loosely over my shoulder as if wanting to hug me, but too tired to hang on.  Long thick hair tangled underneath my fingers in place of the baby fuzz that once covered her head.  So much has changed.  So much is the same.  She turns her face into my chest and I can feel her exhale against me.  I stroked the palm of her hand, still so tiny in mine.  Her fingers instinctively opened and closed around mine.  Even far off in dreamland she wanted to hold on to me. The shape of her face with her perfect nose is still exactly the same as it was 5 years ago.

I don't do this enough.  In the hustle of everyday life I don't take enough time to slow down and just drink it all in.  It goes by too fast.  

So for the next hour I pulled my baby in closer and fell in love with her all over again.  I felt the weight of the responsibility God has given me.  The honor and the privilege, the abundant blessings she brings all rained down on me.  The knowledge that so many souls are aching, desperate for the chance to experience this. Others mourning the loss, knowing all too well that not all stories turn out this way.  My heart filled and gratitude washed over me as I offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

Thank you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Artwork

I love art, any and all kinds.  Photography, sketches, people, places, doesn't matter.  I love it all.  While I do enjoy the beauty of the absolute, my favorite is easily abstract pieces.  There's something about staring at a piece that can speak to your soul without being specific.  Just last night I fell in love with a piece and I can't tell you what or why it caught my attention, but I couldn't take my eyes off of it.  It was unlike any piece that I've ever owned, more bold and fiery than I usually prefer, but stunningly beautiful.  The longer I stood there and looked at it, the more I loved it.  And the beauty of art is simply that I didn't have to have a reason why I loved it.  There is no reason to try to put it into words or describe it.  All I know is that it spoke to my soul and my brain acknowledges that as an acceptable response.

Why is it then that I struggle to do the same with N?  Just as the artwork did, she captured my attention immediately.  She is uniquely different than anyone I have ever met before, beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, sexy and genuinely kind.  The more I watch her, the more I get to know her, the more I am captivated by her.  There's an innate ease, confidence perhaps, that just radiates from within her.  And yet my brain is constantly searching for some concrete explanation for the way that I am responding to her.  I keep staring at the picture in my brain and I just can't get it to focus.  Sometime in the wee hours of the morning I took a step back and all of a sudden it became so clear that the reason it was out of focus is that I was standing too close.  It was like those magic eye pictures that you can't see at all until you get to the right spot and then it's right in front of you.

This startling realization gave me incredible clarity.  At the end of the day is love really so different than art?  Isn't it just another type of expression?  It comes in different forms, different colors; it has the ability to evoke a powerful response with just a glance.  It is beautifully abstract and fluid.  And I am very certain that if done right, with the same consideration, intensity and passion that is poured into art, will tell its' story for hundreds of years to come.

Love in the Home

"Love in the Home"

If I live in a house of spotless beauty with everything in it's place,

But have not love, I am a housekeeper - not a homemaker.

If I have time for waxing, polishing and decorative achievements,

But have not love, my children learn cleanliness - not godliness.

Love leaves the dust in search of a child's laugh.

Love smiles at the tiny fingerprints on a newly cleaned window.

Love wipes away tears before it wipes up the spilled milk.

Love picks up the child before it picks up the toys.

Love is present through the trials.

Love reprimands, reproves, and is responsive.

Love crawls with the baby, walks with the toddler, runs with the child,

Then stands aside to let the youth walk into adulthood.

Love is the key that opens salvation's message in a child's heart.

Before I became a mother I took glory in my house of perfection.

Now I rest in God's perfection of HIS glory.

As a mother, there is much I must teach my child,

But the greatest of all is love.

~Author Unknown