We interrupt programming to announce that nephew #9 has arrived! Marcus Abram made his appearance on Thursday afternoon. Welcome to our world, little one.
On the tail end of your family, may you learn to follow with discernment. And when you have the opportunity to lead, may you lead with love and wisdom.
We are so glad you’re here, Marcus.
It was a balmy day at the beginning of winter that was worthy of short-sleeves. My laundry was hanging in the sunshine on the roof. My spinach and lettuce had dared to show their green little faces on my patio and I was beyond delighted, barely resisting the temptation to make a salad with the tiny sprouts.
My phone rang. “Do you have zucchini? Peppers? Lower the bag and I’ll give you some!”
I held the end of the sturdy string and tossed the bag over the edge of my patio to my neighbor’s kitchen window. She loaded the bag with produce from the abundance in her fridge, and I pulled it up carefully.
And then I was dashing out the door to visit the neighbor around the corner.
My phone rang. “Do you have a roof key?” My downstairs neighbor again. “Can you stay with my boys for five minutes while I take the stroller I’m cleaning up to the roof? It needs to be dry by tomorrow.”
After a bit of scheduling chaos, I continued on my way. I rang my neighbor’s buzzer and waited. Last week, I hadn’t waited long enough, she said, because she had been back in the kitchen with her hands in oily pastry dough and by the time she had washed her hands and put on a headscarf, I was gone.
Today I promised to wait.
A shriek greeted me as the elevator door opened to the third floor. Her three-year-old son, L, was so delighted by my presence that he couldn’t contain himself. “He is flying with happiness,” my friend said. “He isn’t even thinking with his head, just happy.” Yes, that could explain why his feet were in the air more often than his head.
My friend insisted on tea or coffee or something, although I had just stopped by to drop off the container she had sent home with cake the other week. So I stayed for tea, which, as usual, turned into more than just tea.
While she was busy in the kitchen, I hung out with L in the salon. We traveled to other countries. We took naps with boisterous snoring to indicate that we were asleep. I put my head against the couch pillow; he curled up on the floor and pulled the rug over him. SNORE, SNORE. Then he tried to trim my fingernails with a clippers he found on the table. Then: “I have to poop!” And he was gone like a flash and back like a flash. He slipped into my sneakers and clomped around the room in them, giggling. So I grabbed his shoes and balanced them on the tips of my toes.
Just then, his big sister strode into the room. “Shame on you, L!” she said when she saw him in my shoes. But when she saw me in his shoes, she doubled over with giggles.
The tea arrived then, my friend and her husband walking in with laden trays to the sound of our laughter.
Big Sister scooted over beside me when L put his feet near my face and was unceremoniously relocated. But, in the end, L decided he wasn’t hungry after all and hid under the table. We practiced English vocabulary for Big Sister’s Tuesday exam. “Granfodder. Granmudder. Unt. Brudder.”
“I have to go now, but let’s practice tomorrow evening,” I suggested before dashing back to my own building where my downstairs neighbor was waiting for me to bring the roof key so she could air her dripping stroller. I helped haul the boys and stroller to the roof. Little S ran his hand along the bottoms of the clothes dangling on the line as I unpinned them and tossed them into my basket. Baby A crawled across the sunbaked tiles.
I went downstairs to make lunch. The evening would be pleasantly full, but I had a few hours to catch my breath and to realize that this kind of day was really my favorite kind of day.
Welcome to the world, Della Grace. You are wanted. You are loved, you little imago Dei, you. I’m so excited to be your aunt and to share your little world.
And you joined the family string of November birthdays. Happy birthday Della, Zayne, Joanna, Alex, and Bennett… and me.
Zayne’s word for all candles is “happy-to-you.” Alex and Bennett love to sing happy birthday. In August they got stuck on singing to “Clarkie” and continued singing to “Clarkie” well after Clark’s birthday.
So now there is one more of us in this crush of birthdays. One more life to celebrate, and do we ever celebrate you, Della!
As I think about another year, I want to face it head on–to throw my arms around it and laugh. I am not naïve enough to believe that the power of positive thinking will let me skip my share of heartache along the way. But I don’t want pain to keep me from the delight of another day, another opportunity to live well.
Happy birthday to us, Della, Zayne, Joanna, Alex, and Bennett. 🙂
Photo credit: K.K.
Less than a month ago, I was driving a winding road through trees that were just changing color. As I drove, golden leaves sprinkled my car, catching the afternoon sunlight.
My chest ached like something was trying to get out. Or in. The beauty of the moment was so sharp it physically hurt.
I knew I was leaving this beauty–the golden leaves and dry cornfields–for a different world with a different beauty. I was in between seasons of life again.
Despite the busyness of an Illinois summer, my family managed to make quite a few memories. I became “Isha” to three of my nephews. Exclamations of “Isha” were usually accompanied by sparkling eyes and an equally sparkly grins. Well, except that rough day during potty-training when Alex said wistfully, “Bye-bye, Isha.”
My oldest niece decided to pray for a “good husband” for me. When did this little fluffy blondie get so big? Every time I visited their house, her little sister Joanna asked me to “pick stones.” She has a fondness for all things little and finds remarkable traits in the unremarkable. I love that about her.
When feeling particularly independent, some of us would quote Camden, “Camden do it self!”
Zayne called a tiny Fisher Price slide a “wee.” We spent our last moments together on our backs, wildly kicking the air like we were running and then dissolving into giggles much to the amused consternation of the other adults in the house.
Nettie came over to me after church to tell me that her new little cousin, Boone, “–is like a tiny pea!” She squeezed the tips of her thumbs and index fingers to make a tiny dot as if to indicate Boone’s unnatural smallness.
Boone was small, although not quite that small. Just small enough to snuggle and smell like a new baby.
I read stories to ones who are learning to read for themselves. I had them read to me too. They were excited when Grandma brought home The Pancake Pie from the library (one of the best children’s books ever!).
There were days I just wanted to squeeze them tight because they were so cute–like when Dylan pointed out the “-ole” in his sock. There were also days when I was relieved when everyone went home and the house stilled. Oh, we made lots of memories, not just the littles but the “bigs” too. And I return to Spain with a full heart.
It’s time for another season. This season includes a time of not feeling well. I spend more hours than I would like in bed or curled around a hot water bottle, as my body fights the bacteria in my system. But seasons don’t last forever, and the drier seasons often make room for us to dig our roots deeper as we search for water and nutrients.
Besides, I heard recently that one doesn’t have to bloom to be growing.
Well, hello, Mr. Boone, my newest little nephew. It’s a delight to meet you. I look forward to many more newborn snuggles over the next few weeks before I travel back to Spain. You won’t remember me, but I’ll remember you.
May this life delight but never absolutely satisfy you. May you invite Jesus to walk with you every step of life’s journey. Even when you stumble on doubt and sin, reach toward Him, not away. Find your satisfaction first in Him.
I love you, little man.
The bony bench presses into my back. I sigh. The park is quiet. No yippy dogs. No stalker. The coast is clear. The aroma of fresh laundry wafts from the nearby laundromat. It is a welcome break from the cigarette smoke that trails behind passersby. People trickle through the park, some on their way somewhere; others just to watch those who have things to do. Birds rustle the trees. A few bicker, separating the branches with their rustling until tiny dots of sunlight reach me on the bench below.
Just this morning on my walk, I watched runner after runner pass me up. Supple-kneed young, middle-aged, and old. I used to enjoy running too, but now? How do they do that? How can that sixty-year-old zip around me when I–in my mid-thirties–had to convince myself to get out of bed this morning?
I kept walking, slow and steady. And discouraged.
The other week when I was faced with the prospect of starting a Spanish literacy class for women, I was not even just not-excited, I was dreading it, this starting something new when I hardly have enough energy for my current relationships. The class hung over my week like a black cloud until it was cancelled the day before it was supposed to start.
Now as I sit on the bench, shifting every now and then to keep my backbone from getting raw, a lady crosses the park and makes a beeline for my half-occupied bench. She sits beside me, panting.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“I’m all right,” she answers, still panting. She lowers her head and leans on her knees.
“Are you sick?” I ask a little later, trying to prepare myself to run for help if the need arises.
“I’m pregnant.”
And with that, it feels better somehow. Why? Because we both know it is a season and in a few months, another season will begin. Hope.
And I wonder if I’m in a season too.
I awake to my bed shaking. The window frames click and tick with the shifting earth beneath them. Another earthquake. Is it a bad one? In my sleepy stupor, I wonder if this time we will all have to dash onto the street in our pajamas. My heart pounds as I listen for voices and wait for more tremors.
But all I hear is the thump and whine of the garbage truck making its rounds like it does every night. It is comforting to wake up in uncertainty and then find the world is familiar after all.
Is this what my neighbor boy thought when I slipped across the street in the middle of the night to pick him up? While Mommy and Daddy were at the hospital awaiting baby brother, Little S had spent the evening with another neighbor but would not consent to spending the night. He filled their home with his wails.
When he saw me standing at the front door, he ran into my arms, sobbing as if he had just been waiting for something that made sense.
I picked him up and brought him home. He knows my house, and he knows me. We curled up on the couch after he had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. For hours, his breath shuddered from leftover sobs. The body does not quickly forget its tears. Spending the night away from his parents for the first time in his life wasn’t easy…for either of us.
But in a sense, I got to be his garbage truck–the familiar presence as the earth shifted beneath him.
Photo credit: Lucas van Oort on unsplash.com
…girl!
Congratulations to my sister, brother-in-law, and two little nieces on this latest edition to your family. She’s beautiful.
Linnea Ruth, may you always know that you are loved and delighted in. God has a purpose for you.
Even on those days you feel smothered by too many little mothers, remember that you are wanted and treasured. 🙂
I can’t wait to meet you. I love you, little girlie!
Have you taken the time to contemplate Christmas: the beauty and hope…but also the earthiness? God made flesh. Immanuel.
I read recently that the Bible doesn’t record the bloody agony of Jesus’ entrance into the world, not because God is ashamed of Jesus’ humanity in light of His deity, but because those things were so normal that they weren’t noted. Everything was remarkable about a virgin great with child. What wasn’t so remarkable were the hours she spent delivering that Child.
Jesus was divine, yes. But He was also human. And when we forget His humanity, we forget how much we are known.
Hebrews says, “Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace” (4:16). Why? Because He was tempted as we are, yet without sin. Therefore, He can sympathize with us in our weaknesses (Heb. 4:15).
That, of course, is only one part of the Word being made flesh, but it’s a part that I tend to forget. We are not fighting life’s battles alone. We can come boldly to the throne of grace to “receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4:16).
Merry Christmas to you all!
My Thoughts From Afar | 