Lack

Lack:: Kate Motaung's five minute Friday writing prompt on Tuesday

What do you lack, I ask them as they head out the door. Jackets, boots..."I need gloves." We poke around the winter apparel basket for matching black gloves then I hold each out as he wiggles little fingers into particular spots, gives an apple cheeked grin, then states firmly, "okay. I'm wedy."
I crack open the door--a three-year-old sized exit then close it quickly behind him and watch as he hops himself off of the porch and runs to find his big brother.

What do I lack? Dramatically I answer myself, "If only it were a pair of black gloves in a basket."
I feel my lack keenly these days**

Courage, sleep, a plan for dinner, time alone, wisdom, compassion.

This brings me to what I don't lack:

Hope, ability to delight in small things, Legos, dear friends, giggles, children, a husband, money,
and right in this moment, gratefulness.

Offer

Offer:: Kate Motaung's 5 minute Friday writing prompt on Wednesday.

Offer. As a mom of 3 littles, I feel empty, like the dregs are perpetually drained, like I have nothing to offer.
But, I do have myself, my story, my honest presence.
Which is more than I've had to offer my whole life.
Just because I feel empty doesn't mean I have nothing.
And if we sit side by side each with nothing but honest presence, we will leave filled by that connection.

Oct 3 Believe

31 day 5 minite challenge

But these are written that you may believe and that by believing you may have life in His name!

These verses from John are so dear to me. They remind me of a season 3 years ago when I had two kids, lots of anxiety, few deep relationships, hard marriage, fixer-upper house, no sleep, lots of desperation...and God in His kindness put me in a Bible study prayer group with other ladies who were real with me--had just as many problems and messes that weren’t getting better week after week and who prayed--like really prayed--and a Bible study on John where we experienced the Lord breathing life and giving living water to our weary lives.

I’m still super messy, my problems ongoing, my need just as great…

And my faith deeper, my gratefulness great  for other dear sinning saints who walk the road with me.

Grief

When my loved ones grieve there's nothing to do to make it better. Like, normal stuff--fixing food, caring for a child, working out logistics--usually we say, "Whew! There! Glad that worked out. I feel happy."

But your dad is still gone. 'Fixed' is not possible and there's no way to do that or even make strides or efforts toward it.

Oct. 1 Story

31 Day 5 Minute Challenge


Story is the last name of the dentist I've visited once in the last ten years. It was last Monday. I drove up in a rush with a car full of kids who all woke up early or didn't nap--a gift only on this particular day. Will ran out beaming to take the kiddos, "Only one teeny cavity!"

I had scheduled the appointments for my husband an I one after another without time in the middle for either of us to swap caring for the kiddos and all smack in the middle of nap and rest time.

I blew kisses, bounded up the steps...

Restless for something...else

Take Me Away 
I.

My crawling Ezra

smacks the wood floor
with a dollar tree
lightsaber, gums
the sticky old
tape, keeping
the blade on the handle.

Drops it and crawls to explore
a long power cord feeling
velcro wrap, smacking
it against the floor.
Smacking bench, chair,
gummy lips together-nurse me!

Grunting, tongue slinging,
grinning, buzzing, mmmmmmbubu!

Bobbing, dancing...

...i still haven't found what I'm looking for." 

Take Me Away
II.

My drumming Xander
beats, "glooooooooooria!"
in January
in the freezing
sunroom with green
ear protection.

Bass booms.
Cymbal clangs.
Snare shakes and buzzes

He's after a beat; filling,
consistent

"Take me away. A better place. A sweet escape. Take me away."  

 

First, One Poem

Here's a cheesy poem, cheesy because it's full of abstract ideas like a poem should not be--but I'm just getting a hang of this blogging so I"ll give it to myself to be cheesy.

First, One Poem

First, one poem,
That is all, then I'll
begin my work.

Be more than a washer, a baker, a mover of
clutter.

Be a shaker.
Shake my restless heart
of far away dreams
and dear sadness.

Shake my eyes;
my people, really
see them and hold them
close in a picture.

Shake my mind of
connections and ideas
let them spill.

Be grand for one poem's time and
now stoop and keep filled with
delicious air of
one poem.