The house is quiet. Even the corners. Where there had been, hours ago, great rushes of boyhood and energy and life, there is nothing but still.
The night is clear and the moon shines high and bright. Hazy light stretches through century-worn windows. I stand in the center of it all, our home, and let my eyes rove pieces of our day. Lego creation on the floor. Checkers spilling from a box. A book. A ball. Two army men, plastic and green and small.
It's time rest. The days are full. But I can't sleep.
So I climb the winding stairs, where five sons, up above, breathe soft and still with peace.There is fullness. Such joy. A completeness- of- heart when each bed is full.
The room on the right. The wall curves like it's there to cup him, to hold him. But he's the size of a man. He's grown steady and solid and strong. The walls aren't meant to keep him. But for tonight, as he rests, I'm grateful.
Another son. Big and strong but curled like a babe. Body of a man. Heart of a child. My own heart aches to see him, to hear his life in whispers of sleep. Time here is short. I want to make the most. I know that boys grow and pages turn and today becomes a memory fast.
The three small boys. Tumbles of too-long blond. Browning arms and legs. An elbow pokes out, scraped and scabbed, the fresh wounds of spring. A bare foot. There's still a favorite blanket among the twist, red and worn, a faithful friend. A scrap of childhood. A fabric of him.
And I stand among the wonder. A mama, wrapped in bedclothes, wrapped in memory, wrapped in life.
And I'm still. Still as the house. Still as the night. Still over the blessing. That He would give these sons to me.
Beating hearts. Spirits strong. Flesh and blood beauty. There's honor in keeping these lives. To mold them and hold them without clutching or pressing tight. To teach them. To lead them. To open doors they'll walk through alone. To protect. Then prepare. To lean so far into the next generation, into the will-be world, that sometimes there's strain and it feels like we'll crack.
To pray that they'll love the Lord and hold His Word. That their character would reflect Him. In the lives of these five a glimpse of His glory would be revealed.
There's honor in growing a man.
It's time now to rest. My heart is satisfied. I descend the stairs. Stepping past shadows. Leaving another day.
But I'm moved at the blessing. This sweet, high calling.
I am a mother.
This grace-gift is mine.
Happy Mother's Day Beautiful Friends! And especially to you, My Precious Mama, for loving with passion, for stretching deep, for faithfulness and perseverance and a love that won't end. For teaching me life, showing me how to love, and for helping me understand this sweet gift that's ours....
I love you.