Five-Minute Friday: Race

He stands solemnly, stills his growing body, a few paces ahead of me, traces of his breath dancing in the cool October dusk as he deeply exhales a long sigh.

"Oh, mommy," he begins, "All of my favorite leaves are almost gone."

Two straights days of swooping, sweeping strong winds have wrestled the them in all of the bursts of colorful glory from tree branches, sent them rushing down the street and crashing into open stretches of prairie.

"Why does it have to go so fast?" he laments, standing taller, broader shouldered than he was even just a few weeks ago when the green first gave way to deep orange and sunset red. "I wish the leaves would stay a little longer ... they're so pretty like this."

I nod, resisting the urge to inform him that seasons changing are inevitable, that sometimes you blink and you miss the leaves lingering bright and gloriously from the trees at the peak of fall, only catching glimpses of their beauty as they run wildly off into the distance.

We stand together, staring at barren branches, sorry to have not stood here still for longer just a few days prior. I switch my gaze to his face, sleeker and defined more monthly by sharper curves, baby fat having mostly dripped away.

And I linger long in the blazing glory of five

because soon I'll be standing here catching tiny bursts of color racing down the streets.

Everyday Life: Enough

It's not that I don't have enough hours in the day to cross off everything on the to-do list as a part-time working mom; it actually seems that most weeks, I have just enough time to accomplish the to-do list on a daily basis.

{In all honesty, this is especially true now that I have a lovely woman who comes to help me with the house every few weeks.}

For the most part, we seem to have found a groove that allows us to sanely maintain family life and inner lives in combination with my new job at church, John's work, our volunteer schedules, writing, Curves, real food meal preparations, laundry and G's everyday school.

But.

There are these dreams constantly swirling around in my head, deep pools of promising blue I love and long to swim around in during moments of free space or while we're driving, all peacefully staring out across the painted autumn landscape.

A homeschooling family that learns authentically all day, year round without the boys ever attending a physical school.  

A small, authentic farming family who raises animals and food the right way on a wide-open, sprawling prairie where other families are welcomed stretch their legs and learn about health, nutrition, real food and the intersection of the three.  

A novelist. 

A photographer who knows intimately how to use her camera. 

A retreat host with enough outdoor space and bedrooms and bathrooms for creative souls and seeking hearts to enjoy and soak in inspiration. 

It's these moments of daydream escape that I realize hours aren't the confines; rather, there simply aren't enough lifetimes to be everything I long to be.


It's then, too, that I must take a step back from the trees to see the forest.

And I give thanks for the abundance and blessing of a life with which I've already been blessed

and in which I'm already in the deeply vibrant and beautiful blues of swimming.

Everyday Life: So We Eat Cake

He's looking out the floor-length glass windows at tracks as a commuter train sleekly brakes to a halt and then swooshes off toward the city, as if to say that a quick exchange of passengers was merely just a blip in its day.

And I guess that's why we are here, eating lunch together just the two of us, though I don't completely know it until the moment the train jets into the distance, E's small hands pressed against the glass, his blue eyes still glued to the end car that's almost out of sight -- I don't want to be that train.

That's been my whole week, flying off from one destination to the next, slowing only enough to stop for quick pick ups and drop offs and pauses, kisses exchanged deftly before the engine again revs and roars.

But not today.

Not today especially.

He'll be newly three just before bedtime, and I want to linger in two for just a little while longer.

We wander back to our table in the quiet cafe, and soon we are talking about our lunch as we indulge.

There are meetings and there is work looming in the near hours, and I want to throw my phone with its clock and schedule across the room to shatter into a thousand pieces but instead just tuck it away into the depths of my shoulder bag telling myself that truly this schedule won't last long. And truly, we will find ourselves back in the beautiful grooves of tracks that run long, slow freight cars.

I sing happy birthday a few times to his delighted ears and he tells me about light sabers and birthdays in broken sentences while I just eat him up.

I can't resist capturing him still in a few photos, and he looks at me and commands through giggles "no more peetures, mom!"

I sense that it's time to pack up our lunch date and head to the next destination.

But he says "birfday cake on E's birfday?"

There are a dozen reasons not to.

And then there's him.

So we meander up to the counter, pick the perfect slice of lemon and almond polenta cake and return to our seats.

A fork in his hand, he takes a big bite and then scoops one for me.

"You too, mom?"



There are dozens of reasons not to {including not having had anything with more than a hint of sugar here and there for months}.

And then there's him.

So we eat cake

together

train stalled out on the tracks, amid the horns honking, people waiting, giving pause to our runs as the world rushes by around us

and we are better for it.

Everyday Life: Writing Books

"Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your senses."
-C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

A small, newly-found voice emerges from the top of the stairs at 7:52 p.m., 30 minutes past bedtime. He jabbers away as he one-foot-two-foots down the stairs, mixing up his conversation with words we recognize as well as ones we don't yet know.

His feet runrunthumpthumprunthump across the wooden floor until he reaches the space in which I'm perched trying to write away the day and the thoughts and the growth I've been feeling stretch out across my bones.

Maaameeee! he exclaims and throws his body atop of the couch cushions like a surfer mounts his board. In seconds, I am the wave beneath his body.

He presses his forehead against my own and gently smooshes my cheeks in between his toddler hands.

"Oh, hello," I say. "Isn't it bedtime?"

I silently think about everything that's left to be done, including a book chapter that needs to be written, before I can go to bed and am tempted to scoot him right back to my husband.

He kisses my mouth and says, "O, halllo!" before snuggling his little rear next to my own and finally pressing his body into the curves of my own all while making the time that was my own into ours.

I only try to type for about 30 seconds before I abandon writing my life out loud and shut the lid to my computer instead choosing to write a few words on his heart.

I snuggle him as we talk, deeply converse about the pressing issues of the moment.

No, we're not having a snack.

Sack, he echoes as he shakes his head no.

But we can read a book.

Book, he says crisp, staccato like a short note struck against keys.

We talk a bit more until he begins rubbing his eyes; it's then that I send him back to daddy for good-night snuggles.

He won't remember what we talked about tonight; he is only two and a half.

I probably won't either, and I'm 29.

But I hope that those few sentences translated themselves into the message that I'm trying {oh, God, help me to write well} to continually etch onto his and his brother and his father's hearts --

that they -- these eternal souls -- are the most worthy recipients of my time, my love, my care

and

that the story of this family

is the most important book I'll ever write* during this assignment from the Great Editor and Chief.

*Sally Clarkson gave these words to a roomful of hungry ears during a conference breakout session at Relevant '11, and her words have deeply impressed my heart.

Five-Minute Friday: Open

You are stretched out and wide open,
sprawling with days yet untouched
by my own clumsy hands
and I want to fall
without abandon
into You.

You are time and no time
and newness and old
and fresh starts and rich history
and I want to live like
I've been invited into Your eternity

Where new years and old years and
no years
blend together
and my only resolution
is to love You
without abandon.

Starting here.