:on memories and literature, sort of:

she curls up next to me on the couch, pulling her knees to her chest so her entire body rests beneath my arm. mama arms reach far and cover much. her baby face is fading but at times i spy my little one in those big blue eyes. she stares off, pondering things as one does and says without looking, are you sad that i'm growing up mama?

there is a hint of sadness that follows the sands of time, slipping through hands clutched tight. i fear this faulty mind. the one that promises to remember, turns about face and forgets. so i turn them over regularly hoping they stick.

"every man's memory is his private literature"

-aldous huxley

this morning the boy came to my beside before the sun met the sky. two taggies in hand asking for snuggles. i picked him up with a twinge in my back, reminding me that the moments of carrying him are fleeting. i covered him with the car blanket made by the great grandmother he will never know. the one that left a legacy of love and generosity. i looked on through sleepy eyes as he drifted off. when the clock read 7am, i found him snuggled in the arms of his daddy.

i watch the little one walk around in all her glory. curls tight, ringlets actually, except for the frizzy spot where she sleeps. she smiles, four teeth shining and one sweet dimple. seventeen months have come and gone. those moments of wonder and fear of the not-knowing in the first week of her life are far removed. now we count words and play pat-a-cake and delight in the sound of her laughter.

these are our days. simple yet full. memories in the making. our literature poured out as an offering.



*just writing with heather 

:on ann lamott and curse words:

i like anne lamott. she's real and honest and flawed and beautiful and offensive all at the same time. she is a story teller sharing her ugly beautiful journey of faith. a journey that often includes mistakes, mishaps and four letter words. i still take a shallow breath when i read or hear a follower of christ use profanity. it comes from years of training on how to identify other believers based on the following: they don't smoke, they don't drink, have pre-marital sex or curse, ever. 

i was once told that if someone uses profanity in front of me to hold a stern grimace, look them dead in the eyes and say, that language offends me. bet they won't use those words in front of you after that, she said.

i often wonder if the disciples ever used profanity. what would curse words have been in that time, in that language? have you ever seen the deadliest catch? fishermen are nothing short of four letter words. do you suppose jesus looked at them and said that language offends me? 

jesus doesn't strike me as one that was offended by much. among his companions you might find thieves, liars and whores just to mention a few. i don't picture these people suddenly becoming prim and proper because jesus joined the party. this ugliness was part of their journey on the road to the beautiful.

the ugly doesn't disappear when you encounter jesus, but it does become less in sight of the beauty he brings to your story.

//

i once read a post by someone i admire as a writer and believer. i said to jacob across the table, so-and-so used the f word. eisley looks up from her artwork and says, mommy, what's the f word? she's dying to know what the f word is and i keep telling her it's just a strong word that our family doesn't use. it's like stupid and butt. we just don't use those words because they are strong and aren't appropriate for children to use. 

in parenting it isn't my goal to teach my children what should and shouldn't offend them. this will come to them as they work out their own salvation. however, i pray every day that they are offended more by the people that go hungry, by children orphaned and unloved, the widows alone and lonely, the poor, the hurting, the broken and beaten down. these are the things i hope offend and break their hearts. the very things that offended and broke the heart of jesus.

let us all be offended.



*linking up with carissa for miscellany monday 

:on being done with busy:

my eyes open slowly, heavy with sleep. i roll to the left and feel a twinge in my back, age forever taking it's toll. the clock reads 6:14am as the list begins to form in my mind. the days are full, morning til night there's the doing. our society says "effective people are busy people. religious people are busy people. for millions and millions of people, busy-ness is The Way of Life," Barbara Brown Taylor

i'm slowly learning not to fill my life with busy but to fill it with being. 

being a wife.

being a mom.

being a friend.

being a neighbor. 

just being. 

spending time with my husband after his long day at work. letting the house keeping slide on the weekends so there is more time to relish in us. time for kitchen kisses, moments of lingering around the fire sharing belly laughter. making memories with cartwheels and flips in the freshly mowed grass. dreaming the future together.

leaving space for sketches with the little ones around the table. letting them make cookies with extra chocolate chips and watching blue eyes squint with pleasure as they bite into the goodness made by their own hands. 

sticking a stamp on a hand written letter that will arrive at the perfect moment for that sweet friend. sharing stories over huge pots of coffee that grow cold as we get caught up in the glory of it all. 

finally taking time to deliver pumpkin bread to the neighbors. wrapped by tiny hands, delivered with love. letting them be jesus with skin on. showing them the way to acting just, loving mercy and walking humbly. for these little ones, they will be what they see. 

join me in leaving the busy and taking on the being.

*linking up with carissa for miscellany monday

:thoughts on legacy and leaving one:

the door knob was loose. you had to shake it and turn it just right for it to open. i always knocked, never quite comfortable enough to walk right in. i can see every nook and cranny of that old house in my memory. the kitchen, tiny, held a ceramic jar always full of butter cookies, the kind you line up on your fingers and eat one by one. the dining room just as you walk in stowed a table made for six covered by lace and a china cabinet overflowing with beautiful treasures.

my favorite thing in the whole house was that glorious vanity with the mirror as big as the moon and mahogany wood, imperfectly perfect with age. i longed for it to be mine, dropping hints, hopeful for the possibility that it would someday be passed on to me.

it never graced my home. i'm not sure where it landed after her passing, a family disheveled before her death, even more so after. i doubt that anyone took that vanity to love it and pass it along as i had hoped to.

i found redemption in an old sewing machine. a treasure passed down from that precious one, nearly eighty years old and full of loveliness. little eyes looked on in admiration as i learned to use this historic beauty, oozing with memories.

you could see them resurface as she turned the wheel, adjusting tension. reminiscent of ruffles and button holes tenderly sewn for her little one, now a grandmother. a knowing look of fleeting time filled her eyes as she shared stories from back when.

a moment of frustration with the machine led us to giggle over the infamous phrase she uses when upset, "o great!" i hugged her and kissed the top of her head, thankful for this moment in time. a moment that i will remember, share and pass down to my girls.

legacy, beauty from ashes.

*linking up with emily for imperfect prose