I’ve watched you.
You smoothing tablecloths across MOPS tables with your kids latched on to a leg or perched on your right hip. You carrying egg bakes in one hand and round-faced, red-cheeked toddlers in the other, welcoming new moms with warm smiles.
|Photo Credit:Flickr user Elvis Kennedy, under permission of Creative Commons cc license|
I’ve watched you in church hallways, in doctor’s offices, in YMCA lobbies, and in homes full of loved ones. You as you stare deep into the fridge and whip up a meal from what’s there for your hungry crew. You who trade words in gentle authoritative reply to your growing willowy kids’ attitude. You who smooth small foreheads and care for older parents, who help with homework, and who tame a wild home.
Sleeting ice balls pelt the dark bedroom windows one morning this week, waking us before six a.m. slumber pulled us under again.
Snow flakes fall silently later as Daniel and I sound out phonics and read stories of dogs and bugs and logs. All week, we’ve slipped across frozen boot-treads in the ice that look like trilobites in the driveway.
After the joy of meeting moms at Waconia MOPS January 27th, at Sauk Rapids Moms-Next on February 2nd, Woodbury Lutheran Church MOPS on February 6th, and Salem Covenant Church MOPS Friday, I relished times at home with my family too.
Daniel sniffed. Blowing his nose into a white and blue handkerchief, he pulled the math book closer. At the sunny cherrywood table, I stretched legs out and sipped hot coffee.
Oily pots stacked high in the sink behind me. Yellow curried bowls stood in cock-eyed slant, resting one on top the other, shifting dangerously atop four plates. A metal cookie sheet took up most of the counter, and silverware splayed out greasy. Whew. Life can pile up so quickly, huh?
I turned my back on the kitchen, though, lifted coffee to my lips again and rubbed Daniel’s tiny shoulders.
“It’s nice to be back by you, bud. I’m glad to be home.”
Mom, dads, grandmas, grandpas, friends? Your presence matters.
I know the dishes and laundry are piling up. (Don’t even ask about the black swimsuit bottoms that doubled as underwear this week. The skinny black bows bulged under each jean hip pocket.)
For now, snuggle in. Take a moment longer, listen a few minutes more to the complicated Lego story by the breathless boy beside you. Stop all else. Lean in. Savor.
When the snow stopped, school was done and Daniel was playing in another room. Clearing the sink, I lifted the metal faucet and hot water swirled in steaming. Bubbles shone iridescent. Music pulsed behind me, and I scrubbed, wiped, and restored order to my counters and kitchen.
Beef stew bubbled nearby, carrots and onions tumbling past celery. Turning it to simmer, I stole up behind my man and wrapped arms around his neck. Heads touching, we stood quiet, his face warm against mine.
“Thank you, God, for these people in my life, for moments to pause and see. Thank you for the beauty of watching people in all seasons of life lift and love, smooth and savor, bend and bring order.”
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