Tuesday, June 19, 2012

i wade through my days on waves of nausea.

everything is tinged a little green.

everything is made a little bit harder when the end can't be seen.

we make an offer and we wait.

and wait.

and wait...

until that suburban pulls up and the keys are placed in our hands and the first thing i see as i approach the front stoop,

our front stoop,

is a moment of welcome.

in bright pink.

and i can't help but cry.

and then the help comes in waves,

overwhelming grace of friends who finish packing up the boxes i didn't have the energy to stack against the wall.  and they come and they place them in rooms empty and waiting for our memories to fill.

how does one say thank you?

and it's here in this home that i feel this small one move and flutter and turn over,

this small one that has turned my world and my plans inside out and caused me to become quiet.

i think sometimes that emotions and feelings can become so large that stillness is the only way to move through them.

i could be wrong though.

tonight, they asked for spaghetti and i greened as i stirred the sauce.  held my breath and willed myself to finish.  they run in circles around me and leave me even more dizzy as i try and make my way to the table.

we sit, we may have forgotten to say grace, some of us may not have finished our dinners,

but it's near the end when elias lifts those eyes of his to meet my own that he says,

your baby is crying, mama.  i kiss it.

i try and stop him at first, i'm wearing a white shirt and his mouth is circled in red and i still have to take the girls to vbs, but he is adament, certain that only he can calm this baby inside of me who is gently rounding my belly.

so i let him, i let him press that orangey-red sauce against the mama-curves and he marks me with his love.

and soon, i am surrounded by those who were hidden deep within me once upon a time, all wanting a chance to love this small one who hides there now.

life may change and turn out in ways completely unexpected.  maybe even at times in ways we think we never want.  but i think of those scars that mark His Hands.  Hands that willingly chose the hard way so that we could become His own.

i don't do this perfectly, i'm more messy than neat, but i am a marked woman, saved and bound by Love.

this shirt of mine bears testimony...