Lyrics of my Life.
Settle down. Gather round children. Come to the table and color as we listen to words spoken aloud. Words that transport us to another place, another space, another time. And as they calm, poking the play-doh with toothpicks and making impressions with loose change; here a nickel, there a penny, the words saturate in their brains, the images coming to life. Each one's head filled with a different picture.
I gather and sigh and breathe. I pick up my skein and knitting needles and lose myself in the story. Greek and Roman gods. Mythology from a time long past. From a culture whose echoes reverberate into the present.
The dishes sit in the sink. The laundry complains. It's mountainous avalanche threatening to cascade. But the muffins were delicious and the butter melted on them while they were still warm.
The sticky faces and dirty hands abscond out the back door until this evenings bath calls to them. Serenading them sweetly with the promises of bubbles and splashing and pretensions of pirate play.
Though the sweeping was done just hours before, new piles of what-nots litter the floor. Here a cheerio. There a scrap of cardboard and construction paper. The table sticky with glue and glitter.
The crockpot bubbling merrily filling the air with enticing aromas that will sadly not be savored. Cries of delight or protests of disgust... this is what occurs when there are five children afoot. Alternative PB&J is offered, only if made by the disagreeing party or else to bed... with no food. Make your choice.
The brushing of teeth. The giggling. The scrapes to be bandaged. The late night hours of work and planning. Building dreams. Budgeting means. Creating anew. The joy of parenting. The heartache of this world. The pain of loved ones that are hurting. The scary diagnosis. The unspoken future.
The soft breath on my cheek as my child slips in my bed under my covers and falls into deep slumber only to awaken me at an early hour. The cold toes that touch me in the night.
The warmth of blankets pulled high. The smell of coffee freshly ground. The hope that comes from Christ. Exhale. Inhale. Repeat.
Tomorrow has enough worries of it's own, I dare not borrow them for today. Instead I pause and sink in the moment. Capture the memory like a fleeting butterfly. Beautiful but won't last forever. Encapsulate with a picture or allow my brain to open and close like a shutter preserving this moment to be remembered or forgotten at a later time.
The distant humming of song in the distance. The sound of broken glass for the 4th time in 24 hours. The thrumming of the dryer. The wheels continue to churn. Pressing on.
The wet cloth on the warm forehead. Tender words spoken softly. The soup warmed. The tears wiped.
They bounce back. Eyes bright. Bounding outdoors. Seeking adventures. More stories to be made and then told. The mischief managed. The lion tamed. The alligator caught.
And dark turns to light... the morning comes with all it's promises hovering on the horizon. The hope of a new day. The promise of a clean slate. The reminder that all is being made new. And as my tea steeps in my favorite cup I ponder my life and think... I am blessed. The darkness has not overcome me. My strength is in the Lord. This day will be surrendered to the One who knows all the days. And I breathe in... and I breathe out.