Its funny where my thoughts take me some days. Watching the kids and hearing little snips of conversations here and there can send me on a road trip through my mind! I can't believe how often something they have said teaches me or reminds me of an important lesson learned but nearly forgotten. Shouldn't it be the other way around?
Yesterday, sun shining, it really did look like it could be 70 degrees. Isaac said, "How warm does is have to be to go to the beach?" Some wise sage said, "about 80." Isaac said, "I'll go check the temperature!"
I had to laugh. I think he was ready to pack his floaties and grab his buckets and shovels. (Or ask me to get new ones because I have no idea where they are). He had the expectation that it COULD BE 80 degrees.
After seeing that instead of balmy, it was a chilling 50 ish, the idea of going to the beach was put on the back burner and instead, they put jackets on and disappeared to go fly kites. The house got quiet and I started to think. - God save us :)
I started to think about how often I would be better served with that kind of expectation. I would like to more days than not wake-up with the full expectation that God is going to do something marvelous today . . . . have the realization that he DOES and the determination to recognize it.
. . . . after all, did He or did He not start my leaf blower on the first try on Tuesday when I prayed "Dear Lord. PLEASE let my leaf blower start!" God did it. ;) I know He did. Because with him as my witness, that blower has never started before without at least 15 tries!
. . . . . and did He or did He not let a $1.50 bill show up in the mail without a late fee THE DAY I prayed, "I can't find it. I have no info. It will have a late fee before they ever send me another one." Coincidences? I don't think so. And what good does it do me to think they are? I am convinced that God has a sense of humor at times. Those small miracles to anyone but me might sound unconvincing. But I know that I know that I know that He takes the time to "poke me" from time to time and just wink and smile.
And will things occasionally not turn out the way we had hoped? Yes. Will my leaf blower not from this day forward start on the first try always? Yes. Well, probably. But I have expectation . . . I really do. And I'm watching. I hope you are watching too. And instead of getting disappointed over the little things, instead of being bummed that it is not 80 degrees, if the wind is blowing, maybe the best advice I would have to give, to borrow a phrase, would be to "go fly a kite."
Friday, April 9, 2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
As Long As You Like
A little girl asked her mommy if she would lay down with her at bedtime. The mommy said,
"Yes."
The little girl asked,
"How long will you stay?"
The mommy answered,
As long as you like.
I will stay here 'til morning.
I will stay here all night.
I will stay while moon shines
Or the sun shines bright.
I will stay through the darkness.
I will stay 'til the light.
"Mommy, are you still here?"
I'm still here.
I'm not going.
I really don't mind.
I have nothing better to do.
I have nothing to find. . .
Nothing I haven't found already
Nothing as important as you.
No, little darling,
I'm right here with you.
"Mommy, I'm sleepy."
Then just close your eyes.
When you wake in the morning
I'll be the first thing you'll see.
I may be sleeping,
But right here I will be.
"Just a few more minutes?"
No, many more.
A few is too little.
I like it here too.
I'm sorry you thought
Just a few more would do.
I hope you don't think that.
I hope that you know
That when I'm here beside you
I don't want to go.
I'm happy you invited me into your nest.
Into your heart, its the bestest of best.
You've the coziest bed.
Its a bundle of blankets.
It's a forest of bears.
It's a pile of pillows
Its a good place to share . . .
All the things that you're thinking
That might have never been said.
Its a good place for rhyming
And bowing your head.
"Good night, mommy."
Good night.
Now I know you are sleeping.
You won't hear what I say,
But I'll whisper it to you anyway.
I'm stroking your hair.
Its the smoothest of smooth.
And I feel your heart beating
As I hardly dare move.
But as my arms are around you
And I feel your soft breath
I'm so grateful I stayed
And snuggled in bed.
How long will I stay?
For as long as you like.
I will stay here 'til morning.
I will stay here all night.
Elisa often asks me to lay down with her for a few minutes when I tuck her in bed. One night I felt she thought I was in a bit of a hurry to leave. I decided to stay and I am so glad I did. The quotes of "the little girl" are exactly what Elisa said. :) I made sure I remembered them carefully. We layed there laughing and rhyming and much of what is in the poem comes straight from our little conversation. After she fell asleep I just prayed that she would know how much I love to be with her and that I am in no hurry to leave.
"Yes."
The little girl asked,
"How long will you stay?"
The mommy answered,
As long as you like.
I will stay here 'til morning.
I will stay here all night.
I will stay while moon shines
Or the sun shines bright.
I will stay through the darkness.
I will stay 'til the light.
"Mommy, are you still here?"
I'm still here.
I'm not going.
I really don't mind.
I have nothing better to do.
I have nothing to find. . .
Nothing I haven't found already
Nothing as important as you.
No, little darling,
I'm right here with you.
"Mommy, I'm sleepy."
Then just close your eyes.
When you wake in the morning
I'll be the first thing you'll see.
I may be sleeping,
But right here I will be.
"Just a few more minutes?"
No, many more.
A few is too little.
I like it here too.
I'm sorry you thought
Just a few more would do.
I hope you don't think that.
I hope that you know
That when I'm here beside you
I don't want to go.
I'm happy you invited me into your nest.
Into your heart, its the bestest of best.
You've the coziest bed.
Its a bundle of blankets.
It's a forest of bears.
It's a pile of pillows
Its a good place to share . . .
All the things that you're thinking
That might have never been said.
Its a good place for rhyming
And bowing your head.
"Good night, mommy."
Good night.
Now I know you are sleeping.
You won't hear what I say,
But I'll whisper it to you anyway.
I'm stroking your hair.
Its the smoothest of smooth.
And I feel your heart beating
As I hardly dare move.
But as my arms are around you
And I feel your soft breath
I'm so grateful I stayed
And snuggled in bed.
How long will I stay?
For as long as you like.
I will stay here 'til morning.
I will stay here all night.
Elisa often asks me to lay down with her for a few minutes when I tuck her in bed. One night I felt she thought I was in a bit of a hurry to leave. I decided to stay and I am so glad I did. The quotes of "the little girl" are exactly what Elisa said. :) I made sure I remembered them carefully. We layed there laughing and rhyming and much of what is in the poem comes straight from our little conversation. After she fell asleep I just prayed that she would know how much I love to be with her and that I am in no hurry to leave.
There's Not Time to Be Busy
There's not time to be busy,
While eyes watch and arms reach,
While hands touch and I teach . . .
There's not time to be busy,
While legs grow and arms stretch,
The only thing on their bodies that
Doesn't change . . . is their finger prints.
There's not time to be too busy.
Let the grass grow
And the weeds flourish.
How else will they know?
There's not time to be busy.
While hours pass and days bend.
Moments do last . . .
Memories don't end.
There's not time to be too busy
To hear what they say
Over and over in a thousand
Different ways.
I don't have time to be busy.
I don't have enough of that blessed, rich stuff
They call time
To fill every minute with that thing
They call . . . productivity . . .
. . . Longevity . . . if I were promised this,
I wouldn't feel half as bad
To be busy.
But such as life is at the moment,
No, from where I stand,
There's not time to be busy.
There's not time to be busy
While eyes look and they wait . . .
They stand with their hands knocking.
I'm too tired to be busy.
Thank you, God, for that weariness
. . . they watch for it, they
Snatch it up and hold it closely
When it comes . . .
That rest that comes and
promises relief, stories to be told,
Songs to be hummed . . . laughter to be let.
There's not time to be too busy.
There must be time to be slow . . .
To find a pace that is altogether
Coherent with the only language they understand
TIME
I wrote this sometime last year at a time when I was just thinking about carving out more time for the kids. Some days will be busy. And there is nothing wrong with having those seasons of life. But like most moms, I just find myself in constant check of myself. They are growing so fast. And there is so much I don't want to miss.
While eyes watch and arms reach,
While hands touch and I teach . . .
There's not time to be busy,
While legs grow and arms stretch,
The only thing on their bodies that
Doesn't change . . . is their finger prints.
There's not time to be too busy.
Let the grass grow
And the weeds flourish.
How else will they know?
There's not time to be busy.
While hours pass and days bend.
Moments do last . . .
Memories don't end.
There's not time to be too busy
To hear what they say
Over and over in a thousand
Different ways.
I don't have time to be busy.
I don't have enough of that blessed, rich stuff
They call time
To fill every minute with that thing
They call . . . productivity . . .
. . . Longevity . . . if I were promised this,
I wouldn't feel half as bad
To be busy.
But such as life is at the moment,
No, from where I stand,
There's not time to be busy.
There's not time to be busy
While eyes look and they wait . . .
They stand with their hands knocking.
I'm too tired to be busy.
Thank you, God, for that weariness
. . . they watch for it, they
Snatch it up and hold it closely
When it comes . . .
That rest that comes and
promises relief, stories to be told,
Songs to be hummed . . . laughter to be let.
There's not time to be too busy.
There must be time to be slow . . .
To find a pace that is altogether
Coherent with the only language they understand
TIME
I wrote this sometime last year at a time when I was just thinking about carving out more time for the kids. Some days will be busy. And there is nothing wrong with having those seasons of life. But like most moms, I just find myself in constant check of myself. They are growing so fast. And there is so much I don't want to miss.
I Love to Be With You
I love to be with you. I love to wake up in the morning and see your happy face . . . to see eyes peeking out from under pink blankets and know that a smile hides beneath.
I love to be with you. I love to make you breakfast in the morning . . . buttery pancakes and syrup. You taste and smell each sweet bite. Your sticky little fingers and face are sweeter than the nummies you enjoy.
I love to be with you. I love how you are my little helper . . . how I turn around and you are there . . . how you follow me everywhere. Tripping on my heels, tugging on my dress . . . wanting to be near me . . . as close as you can get.
I love to be with you. You help me wash the windows. I see your face in the glass . . . a reflection of me that I hope will last, the child. I am reluctant to wipe away little finger prints . . . precious reminders that there is no one just like you.
I love to be with you. I love to play with you in the sun . . . to see the brilliance of the light shining on your head like a crown of gold. I see the pink of your cheeks and the windies blowing in your hair. I tell you God is whispering. You blow a ripe dandelion and send your prayers heavenward.
I love to be with you. I love to hear your chatter, like the buzzing of a bee. Your words and gibberish stick to me like honey. They echo in my ear even while you sleep. Such a sweet voice and sound recorded in my mind.
I love to be with you. I love to see you dance. I love to dance with you. The music plays and I hold your hands. Your little feet move to something between a waltz and a jig. You whirly-twirl, fall down and get up again. Its part of your performance and you play it well.
I love to be with you. I love to play with you. You are so good to your babies, careful to cover them when they are cold, and feed them when they are hungry. You pat them and rock them as you whisper," oooh," just like you hear me say. I tell you that you will be a good mommy someday because you are so kind to your babies.
I love to be with you. I love to catch you watching me. You do everything I do and I thank God that I am there. I pray that you watch carefully and that I teach you well.
- I wrote this poem when Michaela was about three. So glad that I recorded these thoughts. They could be applied to any one of our children. I often think of some of these lines even still on pancake mornings or as I wipe a hand-streaked mirror.
I love to be with you. I love to make you breakfast in the morning . . . buttery pancakes and syrup. You taste and smell each sweet bite. Your sticky little fingers and face are sweeter than the nummies you enjoy.
I love to be with you. I love how you are my little helper . . . how I turn around and you are there . . . how you follow me everywhere. Tripping on my heels, tugging on my dress . . . wanting to be near me . . . as close as you can get.
I love to be with you. You help me wash the windows. I see your face in the glass . . . a reflection of me that I hope will last, the child. I am reluctant to wipe away little finger prints . . . precious reminders that there is no one just like you.
I love to be with you. I love to play with you in the sun . . . to see the brilliance of the light shining on your head like a crown of gold. I see the pink of your cheeks and the windies blowing in your hair. I tell you God is whispering. You blow a ripe dandelion and send your prayers heavenward.
I love to be with you. I love to hear your chatter, like the buzzing of a bee. Your words and gibberish stick to me like honey. They echo in my ear even while you sleep. Such a sweet voice and sound recorded in my mind.
I love to be with you. I love to see you dance. I love to dance with you. The music plays and I hold your hands. Your little feet move to something between a waltz and a jig. You whirly-twirl, fall down and get up again. Its part of your performance and you play it well.
I love to be with you. I love to play with you. You are so good to your babies, careful to cover them when they are cold, and feed them when they are hungry. You pat them and rock them as you whisper," oooh," just like you hear me say. I tell you that you will be a good mommy someday because you are so kind to your babies.
I love to be with you. I love to catch you watching me. You do everything I do and I thank God that I am there. I pray that you watch carefully and that I teach you well.
- I wrote this poem when Michaela was about three. So glad that I recorded these thoughts. They could be applied to any one of our children. I often think of some of these lines even still on pancake mornings or as I wipe a hand-streaked mirror.
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