Morning Prayer :: The morning after five years

This morning, a newly minted five year old snuggles in for a cuddle on the front porch swing, while the first green of spring bursts out on the trees. "The same old world, but new."* And every breath she takes against my body, every glint of light upon the river, every birdsong carol, all are morning prayers rising from the fresh dawn to the Father of creation.

Here is perfection, often glimpsed yet rarely grasped, and it lives and breathes in my arms.
Here is beauty so pure, and who am I to behold it, and how can a windswept hill make me want to cry for joy and longing?
Here is wonder in the warmth of a freckled face, and the curious nature of seeds, and this one child that I have woken to each morning for five years.

Here is life, life more abundantly.

It is right to give our thanks and praise!

* From Come and See: A Christmas Story by Monica Mayper

~lg

Letters to Arden: The Eve of Three

On a spring evening in May the lawn tractor’s rumble disturbs the placid village scene. It’s Daddy-O on his vintage Bolens, with Arden along for the ride.

Arden, about to be three tomorrow. Have you reached this eve already?

I step out onto the back porch and it’s all slanting golden light and fresh cut grass, and the two of you are in your own little world. You are in your pink spring coat and your “jelly bean” rubber boots, and you are singing a song at the top of your lungs! I can’t hear you over the rumble, and I suppose that’s why it’s so much fun.

Daddy waves, the other arm holding you over the bumps, and you wave too in a careless sort of way, smiling through your boisterous song.

On the eve of three, there is an eager wonder about your days.

On the eve of three, you want to know whether the caterpillar we saw yesterday has made its cocoon and got its big wings yet.

You want to know if it’s windy enough to fly the kite.

You want to know if our neighbour is home from school yet so you can play with her.

You want to know what day it is because you know that Friday is your birthday, and you concentrate on holding up just three fingers to show me how old you will be.  

On the eve of three, the whole world is opening up before you.

Apple blossoms and adventures in the woods!

Bicycles! Birthday parties!

Counting chicken eggs and chasing bubbles on the breeze!

Every little thing is a big thing, just like this tractor ride.

Tonight you are queen of the back yard, and with one of Daddy’s arms around you, you are ready for whatever tomorrow brings. And we will welcome Three together with the morning sun, but right now I’m just standing here taking you in, both arms full of the eve of three.

~lg

Letters to Arden - March 20, 2013

Dear Arden,

Today is the first day of spring! You wouldn’t know to look at it though – it’s a real snowstorm outside. All the world is wintery white, and so we are staying home and staying warm today. I know you’ve been waiting for spring, and that’s what makes March so hard! March can never make up its mind. But it will come, and it will be warm, and it will make you so happy! There’s nothing so amazing as seeing the world burst into life again.

Easter is coming soon too, and so for our little Bible story time this morning, I pulled out a simple picture book of the Easter story. You sat beside me on the couch, and Jack sat on the floor, absorbed in a basket of toys. I told you about the pictures – Jesus riding a donkey into Jerusalem, and all the people waving branches and shouting “Hosanna!” You looked at me sideways, like I was being silly, but Jack liked that part, and turned from his toys to wave his little hands back at us. I told you about the supper Jesus had with his friends, and how he went to a garden to pray. I told you about the mean men who took Jesus and made him carry a cross.

“That’s Jesus, Mommy,” you said, pointing to the man carrying the cross. And then we turned the page.

“Jesus died,” I said quietly. You looked at me, leaned closer and put your hand on my arm.

You know who Jesus is. We sing “Jesus Loves Me” almost every day. You know what died means. Our cat, Scratchy, died last fall and we buried her in the ground. You know somehow, instinctively, that these two things should not go together.

I said it again, and showed you the grave where they put Jesus’ body. You were quiet. You were sad. You were unsure. Oh, little girl, you wouldn’t know it to look at it, but the best part of the story is on its way.

We turned the page again, this time to a smiling, standing Jesus. “Jesus is alive again!” I said, and I didn’t have to pretend to be excited. And your face burst into life, and you looked at me with wonder in your eyes. I told you all about it, and then you wanted to go back to the part where he died, just so you could see it happen one more time.

“Where’s our Jesus, Mommy?” you asked at the end of the story. “He’s in heaven now,” I said. You paused a moment, then reassured me, “He will come to play in the sand here, in the summertime.” That seemed to settle the matter.

 One day, my love, it will make more sense. Right now I am happy that this story is being planted into who you are, and I know that “our Jesus” will make it grow till it turns your heart into warmest spring, and it will be amazing.

 

Love Mommy

 

 

Single-handed Theology: Learning to Love

She carries her Baby around wherever she goes. Now that there is a real baby in the house, Arden is all the more interested in taking care of her own. She changes her diaper. She wraps her up in a blanket. She looks for owies and bugbites and kisses them better. She feeds her, and then burps her. When it’s naptime, she wants Baby tucked under the covers. When we pray before bed, she wants me to hold Baby’s hand too. It’s so sweet, this learning to love.

Sometimes she gets overwhelmed by all that baby needs. The velcro diaper tabs don’t always stick right. The blanket doesn’t wrap around just so. Baby falls out of bed. And she’s worried about that same owie on Baby’s head that never goes away. When it’s all too much, there are tears, and sometimes poor Baby gets tossed to the floor in frustration. It’s so hard, this learning to love.

She learns from me. All she knows about taking care of Baby is copied from what I do. (Except throwing Baby on the floor!) And when she needs help, she comes to me – for assistance, for reassurance, for that extra kiss to make things all better. Gently, I show her the way. There are times I just smile wide because the love seems to come so naturally to her. There are times I’m a tad concerned, like when swaddling turns into smothering, but I know she’ll soon get the hang of it.

I look at her looking at me, a mommy mirror. I pray I am a good example.

I look at her looking at me, and I see myself again in her. I am the one learning. I am new at this too.

I pray for clear eyes to see my Father’s heart and His way with me.

I pray for ears to hear my Father’s voice and heed His wisdom.

I pray for the grace to love well.

My little girl, we will learn to love together. 

~lg

Thunder

Thunder rumbles me out of my bed
To stand at the windowpane, watching
Feeling the absence of the wind that signals the coming tempest,
The atmosphere’s vacuum, drawing me out of my skin and into the grey gathering clouds

Thunder rumbles and Arden looks to the window, wondering
Not afraid, just curious, looking to me to explain, to make safe
How do I wrap the words around thunder?
How do I tell her it is deep calling to deep,
All the ancient longings galloping over the plains to throw themselves off the cliff,
The shaking of everything that can be shaken,
The roll of the drums vibrating with a resonance that awakens the taut skins within
Till hearts skip beats to join in the dance of the Sky King?

Thunder rumbles and I wrap my arms around her
And we stand together at the window, waiting
I can never make it safe
Only make it welcome


~lg

morning

A quiet morning spent with you
Rocking, reading, singing, feeding
Your smiles set my heart a-beating
Nothing else I'd rather do
Than share this quiet morn with you


~lg