growing up. {letters to kai}

you were flopping & romping all over the couch until i caught you in my cuddle trap. an old, well-worn police helmet tilted on your head. the one with the green visor that you say makes you see bad guys better.

i set you up on my lap, being sure to have hold of your ankles so you can't wiggle away. you lift the visor up slightly & squint at me suspiciously.

"kai, what do you want to be when you grow up?" i ask.

"i want to be a king so i can rule the world!" you answer with a glint of mischief in your eyes.
"no wait" you add. "i want to be a prince of a school..."

"you mean a principal?" i ask.

"no, the prince of a school. actually never mind, i just want to be kai" you say with a big modest grin.

"well, that's a pretty great thing to be" i say. "but kai, how will you change the world as a kai?" i ask.

"well, i just don't know yet mom. but i just want to be a kai and right now i just want to be kai the kid" you say as you wiggle free from my clutches & flop across to the other side of the couch just out of reach with sheer delight stretched across your face as you marvel at your own escape.

when you grow up, i hope with all my motherly ambition, that you will be a kai. a kai in all his confidence, muster & glory. that you would see things as a kai & hear things as a kai & hopefully think & talk & roar like a kai. and you will change the world, in your kai-kai kinda way, even though even you can't predict the far reaching influence of your God-given kai-ness. and i will be the proudest mama of all, that my kai is a kai in all fullness & integrity of what a kai is. and it will be my greatest privilege to watch you grow & flourish & bloom in a way that only a kai can.

and you may be a king of sorts or a prince of a school or a great many things with your vast array of besotted talents but as long as you're a kai at the same time, well, that's what will change the world.

"here and now we are God's children. we don't know what we shall become in the future. we only know that if reality were to break through, we should reflect His likeness, for we should see Him as He really is!" 

{1 john 3:2, jbphillips}

daddy-daughter dance {letters to eva}

i was buzzing around the counter making preparations for the long three day recovery of wisdom teeth which was imminent. you sat there pensively licking the beaters dripping with monkey bread batter. 'beautiful ryder' came on my ipod & i turned it up as loud as my little ipod speakers could go, prepared for the consequence of waking the others up from their blissful naps.
"and what's this song mom?" you ask.
"this song is about how beautiful Jesus is. and i love it!" i say belting out the lyrics.
"yeah but there are no girls in this song, because Jesus is very handsome. boys are handsome & girls are beautiful" you say.
"well, sometimes you can be so handsome that you are beautiful at the same time" i say.
"and Jesus is dancing with us isn't He?" you say.
"oh, Jesus loves to dance with you evie"i say.
"and He loves to dance with me but He has no legs" you say.
"why do you think He has no legs?" i ask.
"because He lives in my heart mom. silly, i'm His legs." you say.
i stop & well up just a little.
"oh, yes! that's right. that's very good eva."i say.
"look! and He can even do twirls just like me! and i think He's even likin' dancing with Scout!" you say with a little giggle, demonstrating.
"and Jesus is happy because He loves me & i will always love dancing with Him. He can hang onto my legs maybe for always."

i don't know about Him hanging onto your legs. but i do know that He loves to dance with you my evie. sometimes we forget when we dance or sing for Him that He was the initiator. that He was the one who woke us up with His song & it's our soul that harmonizes with His melody. like a little girl placing her feet on her daddy's & dancing around the room. He's never been an impartial observer of our worship. sometimes we're just oblivious & miss it. we forget to look into His eyes burning for us. but just because we miss it doesn't mean it isn't there. the love songs painted across the skies in tones there is no name for. the passionate ballet unfolded in the rising sun & the earth's waking each day. when He sings His lullabye over us with the croon of the meadow lark or the hush of the stars. the greatest romance known to mankind spread across the universe in all it's vibrance & violence. and it is loud & all consuming when you hear it, see it, embrace it. and so keep your eyes & ears open. for He sings for you little eva joy. He sings for you all day & all night.
and that's the most beautiful thing i have ever seen or heard.
your little heart dancing with His.

'there's a man wrapped in light. 

with eyes of fire burning bright

with feet like bronze & a blinding glow.

with a golden sash & hair like snow.

He is King, He is Judge, He is Mercy, He is Love.

how beautiful is the man on the white horse. how beautiful is the Lamb who was slain.

worthy is Your name. worthy is Your name.'

{jake hamilton, beautiful ryder}

the dungeon of despair {letters to kai}

it had been a bad day. a bad roll of days. a bad week. i had just declared to the world the most magnificent thing. i declared that i had been healed. and i knew. i knew the week that would follow that statement would have its challenges. i knew to expect the word to be tested. i knew & yet still wasn't quite prepared & unraveled quicker than my resolve could hold. maybe it was how the testing came from such unexpected places. maybe it was the bulk effect of multiple things coming at one time. but whatever the reason, i was in the unraveled place. a dark, dungeon-y place. a place i had just declared i'd never be in again. and i was sad. 

it was a rainy day & we were watching veggie tales’ 'robin good & his not so merry men'. you were nested sweetly on my lap while the others flipped & flopped on & off the couch & surrounding pillows. 

i was stroking your hair while we watched & i choked back a few tears. this veggie tales was a little too close to home. everything from lenny & his lost birthday with his mom singing to him about where to put our hurts & disappointments to the fat motherly gourd who consoles robin good or the sheriff in the dungeon of despair, too sad to escape. feeling ridiculous how much i was relating to a movie based on the lives of vegetables, i reel in my emotions. this is silly i think to myself. and then, with your eyes still fixed on the tv, you say...

"i'm so sorry mummy"

"so sorry for what?" i ask.

"so sorry for my God."

"what do you mean God is sorry?"

"God says i’m so sorry for the dungeon of despair."

big tears began to well in my eyes as i clutch you a little closer. 

"that's nice kai. that's very nice." i squeak out. 

"yeah." you say, eyes still glued to the screen, like nothing profound just happened. like you didn't just give your first, life changing prophetic word. 

you wiggle free a few moments later & bound across the ottoman & leap into the big arm chair finding a new spot to perch. 

“i love you kai” i say.

“i know & you & God made me special & you love me very much” you pause a moment & then mumble under your breath as you get lost in the movie again, “and i love you too mummy”.

sometimes you just need someone to see you. you need to know that they know how much it hurts. and that is what God did that day. He saw me. i know that God doesn’t cause pain or hurt. He isn’t the author of despair. but knowing that He doesn’t cause suffering & knowing that He is there in the suffering with you are two different things. He saw me & i turned into His embrace. seeing someone is a powerful thing. truly seeing someone & choosing to be there beside them. just being there to know. being there to see. being there to impart comfort & courage & hope. He was there because you lent your tiny voice to His. and He spoke bedrock to my quicksand. He spoke security & strength to shaky knees. 

these may be choices you are someday faced with. when disappointment crosses your path, will you turn into His embrace or will you turn away in your hurt? will you listen to the still, small voice there beside you that says “I’m here & I love you & I hurt when you hurt.” i pray that you'll know His presence & turn to Him. the only One who truly knows what our hurts feel like & carries them for us if we let Him. the only real comfort a soul can feel. the love of a saving Saviour & the embrace of the extravagant Father. 

it was a completely ordinary moment transformed into holy by your tiny voice. don’t ever underestimate the power of your little voice. for even you my little kai, at the small age of three, have already had a profound effect on my life.

the crown on your head {letters to eva}

"the beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries or the way she combs her hair."

 {audrey hepburn}

nancy tillman's the crown on your head

this morning started out like any other morning. a good hearty start to the day. there was the usual feeding of the four hungry bears at the counter. one extra grumpy bear down with rosy cheeked


teething but nothing mama couldn't handle after a big swig of caffeine.
my mistake was reading that book. that book that has gotten me into trouble in the past. kai had found it stuffed under the couch & begged me to read it. and so i did. and 'alexander & his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day' jinxed us.
i shuffle you kids into your various spaces for room time. shower. get a good roll on the dishes & the day & then spring back upstairs to get you dressed. you chatter in my ear as a scramble through your drawers only to realize laundry day is long overdue. i pick a tuff of hair off a discarded sweater, thinking jeepers i should have done a better job cleaning up after i trimmed your bangs.  the sweater will do. not so dirty you look dirty. just dirty enough to think you play hard. i lift you up onto the change table & begin forcing limps through clothing holes. you prattles on. something about a haircut.
"see mummy! see?"
"yes eva. uh huh" i say half heartedly as i continue to build my list in my head for the day. groceries. gym. can't forget to mail that letter.
i sit you up all dressed & get out the hair stuff.
"which pretty bow should we use today?" i ask as i awkwardly fumble the comb through your hair only to realize...

nancy tillman's the crown on your head

"eva, what have you done?!" i exclaim in sheer horror as you hand me a golden clump of your hair.
your enthusiasm for your new do evaporates as you burst into tears.
"i sorry mummy! i so sorry!" you sob.
i pick you up & you bury your head in my shoulder. i run my hand through your hair to feel for the missing chunks.
i take you to melonheads. you sit in the chair reluctantly until you agree to a stale granola bar & my hand to hold. i hold your hand tight as the hairdresser lops off the rest of your hair. i hold back tears. but you don't notice. you're zoned out watching 'rapunzel' on the t.v. overhead, a cruel irony.
i breath deep as i carry you back to the car, stoking the back of your practically bald little head.
throughout the day, i watch you as you play. taking in your hair. taking in your beautiful little face. you catch me watching you a few times & instantly run to me with quivering lip.
"it's ok evie. it'll grow out. i'll be ok" i say.

nancy tillman's the crown on your head

they say a woman's hair is her crowning glory. some say it is her definition of femininity. some believe it's where her strength comes from. and that may be true. but you came into this world with no hair at all. you came into this world with a crown all your own a top that bald newborn head. i noticed it the first day we met. it was beautiful & bold & bright. full of all that is you. it's fierce full of life & wild joy uncontainable. and oh how it's glimmered & grown with you. and whether you have locks of gold to for that crown to nest on or are bald as the first day we met, it is there just the same. saying the same thing it's always said. shining to all and to all it says 'she is magnificent'. you wear it a top of that head of yours even now & carry it with you for always & wherever you go.

"in other words, from your very first day, you were chosen to glow in a very big way! 

with your crown made of glittering, high-flying things, you've got wind in your pocket, your wishes have wings...

your crown is your best friend forever, by far. it tells the story of just who you are. 

that's why every night, when i put you to bed, i'm careful to kiss the crown on your head."

 {nancy tillman, the crown on your head}

fruit flies, giants & the like {letters to evie}

"hi mom!"  you say from your perch on the step, scribbler & pen in hand.
"hi evie, we draw just on paper right? just on paper... not on legs or the deck or anything else, just paper..."i say as i string along a wet load of laundry onto the line, pinning tiny shirts & shorts after close inspection.
the backyard thrums with the sound of a distant whipper-snipper. i continue folding the previous load of laundry now dry on my makeshift hot-tub folding table. i wonder if i should add a booster to the wash from now on.  these clothes are never going to make it to livi if i don't start making an effort.  i seriously need to teach them to learn to eat with a spoon, this is ridiculous, is that a whole banana coin dried to the back of that...
a shreik shatters the strategic laundry meeting in my head...
"A BUG! a bug mommy a bug!" you scream, fists clenched up to your ears & face scrunched as you wince to avoid the most certain demise as a teeny fruit fly flutters by totally oblivious.
"just say shoo bug, don't bother me!"  i instruct, knowing that if i don't teach you how to do it yourself, you'll never be able to be outside without your mother, the bug squasher, by your side.
"shoo bug! shoo bug! shoo you!"   you say with as much command as that tiny voice of yours can carry with your finger in the air like you mean it.
i peer down to notice that you have coloured in your knee with blue pen.
"evie! what did mommy say about colouring?"
you are distracted from the bug momentarily to explain your knee's misfortune.
"oh no! my knee... no colour my knee.  i stop it me!" you say now pointing that finger at me.
"oh no, is right.  no more pen evie.  all done."  you fuss, unhappy with reaping the consequences of your body art.
sigh. i look for another distraction before this fussing snowballs into a fit.
"evie, can you go get those pants?" i appeal to your love of helping, as i point to a pair of shorts that have flown off the line.
"sure! i do it mom.  i do it."  you say enthusiastically. "i be right back!" you say, pointing that little finger again.
"good girl evie.  thanks sweet heart."
you haven't even made it to the bottom step before another shriek, followed by a wince & a scramble back to the top of the stairs.  it would appear as though the little unassuming fruit fly is hovering above the very shorts you were asked to pick up. sigh. i gently encourage you back down the stairs with my hand on your back.
"that's it evie.  you just say, shoo bug, shoo in Jesus name."
"shoo bug & Jesus!"  you shout as you suddenly spring down the that step & march across the lawn with conviction, grab the shorts & point your little finger threateningly off the end of your nose. "shoo, i say!" you flip your hair in disgust as if to say how dare that bug try to intimidate me!
i am impressed.  speechless even.  swelling with pride. moments ago terrified of this microscopic organism being in your space to walking right up to the source of your fear & giving it heck.  so proud to witness this first moment of many, where you fight for your ground, where a warrior woman is born.  where you stand fast & dig deep inside to find courage & conviction & resolve to fight the good fight. where you run to the battle line to take what is rightfully yours. oh, this is a victory indeed.  it may have been a fruit fly today but it was a giant in your eyes & you cut him to the quick, looked him in the eye & stood your ground.  beware world.  evie joy nouvelle knows who she is.  she has a finger & she knows how to use it!

my little mighty {letters to davith}

it's bedtime.  book time.  your favourite time.  you love filling your head with outlandish books & wild ideas, far off lands & strange new beasts.  you burrow down deep under your comforter & fold your arms across your chest ready to taste & breath the unconquered world.
we've started reading a new book.  an intentional book.  a sowing book.  it is well beyond your age & i know this but i am sowing like a wise farmer does.  i begin to unfold it's pages of truth & you're wide eyed but quiet trying to make sense, to cull it's meaning into your world. it is a letter from God to you. i read to you of your heritage, of the legacy you follow...
"my mighty warrior, i have a powerful plan for you, my son.  i know you are just a young boy, but so was king david when i chose him to become the future king.  little did he know, while he was faithfully protecting & caring for the sheep, that i was preparing him to protect & care for my people one day..."
i pause for a moment.  you're pensive, taking it all in.  i can see the seed of greatness germinating deep down inside.
"do you think you would like to protect & care for God's people one day?"
"yeah mom.  i could wake them up in the morning & make them waffles for breakfast & i could take them to the bathroom so they won't be scared & i could tuck them in..."

oh yes davith benjamin.  you will wake many from their slumber, you will feed the hungry something much longer lasting than waffles & you will be an arm of comfort to those terrorized by fear. and being faithful in the little will turn great, the small, seemingly insignificant will expand into everlasting bread.  you follow the steps of him whom you were named after, king david.  but you will do greater things, oh mighty warrior.  greater than the boy who killed giants with nothing more than a sling shot, tackled bears & lions with his bare hands.  the boy who became a king one day. the same boy who tended the sheep, who serenaded the King of kings with his song in an empty field.  do not despite small beginnings my son, for He has a plan & a purpose.  nothing is wasted or lost in His kingdom.  i know you are still little but you are mighty because of Him.  
you & that ferocious appetite for adventure are going to conquer the world.

love straw {letters to davith}

"would you like some milk with your muffin?" i ask only as a formality, already knowing the answer.
"ya!" you shout enthusiastically, as a few muffin crumbs erode from the corners of your mouth.
"yes, please you mean?"
"yes, please!"
i fill your blue cup, plunk in a straw & slide it across the counter.  i busy myself with counters & crumbs as you stuff your cheeks with muffin in your usual fantastical muffin eating fashion.
"hey mummy! look it's my love straw from balentines day!"
"why yes it is..."
"and mummy, i wish i could drink with this straw eberyday!"

oh yes, davith. we all would have a better day if we drank from our love straws.  love straws change everything.  love changes perception.  pumps life to the heart, oxygen the muscles.  love is not a merely a concept nor ideal.  it is the reason we exist, the motivation for everything, our purpose, our soul craving. sometimes we draw from our love straw without knowing.  other times, it is a hard intentional choice.  for when we allow ourselves to draw from love, we possess the ability to love imperfect people.  and when we love imperfect people, His love is perfected in us. 

morning confessions {letters to davith}

it's so early not even the sun is up yet.  i herd you & brother & sister with baby in hand down the stairs,  flip on the overhead kitchen lights.  too bright! i settle for just the light over the oven for now.  easier on tired eyes.  brother & sister find their places at the counter & you pull yourself up on a kitchen chair & perch yourself to play with baby sister's feet as she bounces in her seat in the middle of the table.
i scurry around the kitchen spilling cereal & milk all over the counter... quickly before there's a riot, breakfast quickly.... coffee quickly.
you peer past little sisters seat at a leftover dinner plate as she squeals with delight.
"mummy?  is Jesus coming to breakfast?" you ask.
goodness i hope not, the house is a mess! i'm a mess! i think to myself.  people are a lot more honest in the wee hours of the morning, or so i have found.
"ummm, what's that now?" i stall to pull together an answer.
"is Jesus coming over today?"
i squint still half  asleep...sigh.  why do you always ask the most complicated theological questions before dawn & while reverend daddy is no where to be found.
"well, yes He is... i mean, He's always here.  He's all around us & He comes with us everywhere we go.  He lives in our hearts." whew!
"does He like our cheerios?" crap! i scour my brain, trying to remember what all of the parenting books i've read said.  dozens of books, none i recall addressing this question.

"mmmmm, i don't know, why don't you ask Him?" cringe.
"Jesus, do you like cheerios?" you ask to the seat next to you. "He not answer me Mummy." crap, crap!
 "weeeell, sometimes we need to learn to listen differently.  He doesn't always talk to us like other people do." i am drowning fast, i rub the sleep from my eyes & take a deep breath.  trying to come up with a way to salvage my pitiful answers.
"can Santa come to breakfast?" cringe.  deep breath.  the answer i know i have to give runs rough against my grain.
"well, Santa isn't real peanut.  he's just like bob & larry or bambi.  we just pretend play Santa..." so did not want to tell you that at the age of three. thought we could at least keep the rouse going until age 6.
"oh." long pause. "can we put Jesus away?"
"well, some people try to put Jesus away but we lose when we don't have Jesus.  Jesus is a person.  we can't put Him away.  we only like to think we can.  that's like me saying 'let's put davith away!'"
you giggle at the thought of being put away in a toy box or a closet.
"that's silly mummy... silly mummy!"  i smile.  yes, silly mummy.  to think that Jesus would mind the crumb littered floor or the spilt milk or my pre caffeine hair or my apparent lack of parenting skills.  no.  He'd be right at home here.  He is right at home here.  here with me & you & brother, sister & baby.  i think of all the times i've tried to 'put Jesus away'.  how many days, how many mornings i've 'lost' trying to hide under my humanity.  avoiding His goodness, His love.  i don't even know why.  embarrassment maybe?  but Jesus took us, chose us before we ever had the ability to please Him.  no need to hide the imperfection from Him.  He chose you & He chose me, with messy hair, sleep lines & morning breath.  He chose us.  And He hears your questions, although you haven't yet learned yet how to distinguish His voice.  And He has all the answers.  He has so much to tell you, so much to pour into you & out of you.  He is there dear son.  all around you whispering His love for you through the cheerios, through pjs & spilt milk.  and He is there even in the wee hours of the morning. 

notes to a daughter {love letters}

i stumbled upon this the other day and it made me smile.  as a wedding gift to her daughter & son-in-law, author elisabeth elliot placed her book 'let me be a woman' into her daughter's hands on her wedding day. the book was subtitled 'notes on womanhood for valerie'.  i love reading notes from fathers to sons, mothers to daughters.  it's like watching the baton being passed from one generation to the next.

the book, written in 1970 as feminism was in full swing, was quite controversial for it's time as it provided instruction on femininity in marriage. still not a popular concept these days.

this collection of letters to her newly wed daughter is all about serving God through her calling as a wife.  i hadn't never thought about it that way before.   serving God by serving him.  at the beginning of our marriage, i confession, my soul goal was to convert steve into a little mini-me.  but in my heart of hearts, that's not really what i wanted or needed.  all is growing grace in love. this is why i love these letters so much...

you marry a sinner.  there is nobody else to marry. that ought to be obvious enough but when you love a man as you love yours it's easy to forget.  you forget for a while and then when something happens that ought to remind you, you find yourself wondering what's the matter, how could this happen, where did things go wrong?  they went wrong back in the garden of eden.  settle it once and for all, your husband is a son of adam.  acceptance of him - of all of him - includes acceptance of his being a sinner.  he is a fallen creature, in need of the same kind of redemption as the rest of us are in need of, and liable to all the temptations which are "common to man".

you marry not only a sinner but a man.  you marry a man not a woman.  strange how easy it seems to be for some women to expect their husbands to be women, to act like women, to do what is expected of women.  instead of what they are men, they act like men, they do what is expected of men and thus they do the unexpected.  they surprise their wives by being men and some wives wake up to the awful truth that it was not, in fact, a man that they wanted after all... the world cries for men who are strong in conviction, strong to lead, to stand, to suffer & shoulder the burden of manliness in a time when to do so will often bring contempt.

we are called to be women.  the fact that i am a woman does not make me a different kind of christian, but the fact that i am a christian does make me a different kind of woman.  {elisabeth elliot}

i can only hope to encourage my daughters & sons in their respective femininity & masculinity with the same conviction as elisabeth.  she is at the top of my life list of those that have inspired me {did you know she was widowed twice, married thrice? such a strong woman full of faith!}.

 steve is everything i never thought i needed & wanted. he is the perfect provision of God to me.  there are many great things that i find the provision of God in him... but this one thing i am very glad of... he has never shirked the burden of manliness. thank the Lord that He guides my feet along the path of life.  is there anything more fulfilling than finding your love & living out your calling passionately in grace?

"if you really want to motivate your man and communicate with him, as well as enjoy a fulfilling marriage with him and raise healthy kids with him, stop expecting him to act or think like a woman. he can't do that. nor should he." 
gary thomas, sacred influence

the clammer & the quiet {letters to livi}

you are totally at home in the noise, in the chaos, in the clutter of your older siblings.  crumpled laundry often lines the end of your bed, a gift from your older sister.  but you don't mind.  your diapers often stolen for someone's dolly, your susu's borrowed by your brothers, your blankets paraded around the house as a cape or fashionable scarf.  but you remain undisturbed.  drums, whistles, giggles & shrieks shred the silence of your nap.  but you sleep deeper, harder when you know we are there.  when i finally lay you in your basinet in a quiet corner upstairs, away from the clammer, you cry unconsolable for the others.  you are soothed by the sounds of life & long for the company while you dream.
but my dear sweet livi, the time has come for you to slip into restfulness all on your own.  soon you will learn the life long lesson your mama is still learning.  sweet solitary is a gift.  soul soothing salve is the quiet, if you let it.  there are things you can only hear in the silence.  things you can only think in the quiet.  but don't fret your little furrowed brow... for you are never actually ever alone.  there is the One who fills the stillness, who whispers in the wilderness.  He is always alongside, always listening, always speaking.  and remember, just because you seem alone, doesn't mean you have to be lonesome.  there are many others who are cheering you on, even when you can't see them.  like the great crowd of witnesses or your mama... ever praying, ever cheering, ever there.

little mother {letters to eva}

"opsies!" you exclaim at the sound of your wee baby sister in the next room.  you run to her aid pressing her susu softly against her lips. you bend low to give her your kiss.

your brother throws a tantrum in the other room. "opsies!" you run off to tend to your motherly duties.  he is stuck in his coat. you use those tiny fingers of yours to unzip his jacket & promptly begin removing it from his shoulders. you garble a few nonsense sentences which only your twin would understand & then toddle into the other room.

i follow.  you pick your baby doll off the ground which older brother has carelessly ejected out of the back of his tractor. you hold her by her neck. rocking her, swaying back & forth patting her back with your tiny palm. "shhhhhh!" you sing her to sleep.  you find a place for her in an empty baby swing. cover her with one of little sister's blankies & place a discarded susu on her chest.

you grab your purse & a dirty diaper left on the floor, clutch them both under your arm & toddle off to you next mothering duty.  although it is not duty to you.  just pure joy.

and this is who you are, mother in miniature growing into mother mature.  you will comfort those who cry.  liberate those who struggle.  lift weighs off of the oppressed.  speak life to those who are dead & don't know it.  you will bind up the carelessly discarded & broken hearted. sooth them with your song.  you will find a place for them.  you will gather them under your wing & shield them with your faith.  you little eva joy nouvelle, with the Christ in you, will be great hope to those in great need of mothering. and in all this you will find your great Joy.

{eva, 19 months}    

endings & beginnings {letter to davith}

"mom. i busy." you say.

"but dav, i just want a little cuddle?" i say.

"but mom. i too busy. just for a little while, k?" you say.

you indulge me for a moment and crawl up on the couch beside me & throw those small arms around my larger middle.  my heart soars.

"will you stay little for me forever?" i ask facetiously.

"only for a little bit mom.  just a little bit for you." you bounce down & busy yourself with the busy work of building barriers of toys so your siblings can't come in the room without knocking over a toy apocalypse.  piling box upon car, pillow upon baby doll you work fervently until it meets your expectations. hands on hip, you grin with approval. your contagious giggle follows.

sigh. how do i make it last?  how do i slow time down? your childhood flashes before my very eyes.  so fast.  too fast. how could you be busy already? when it feels so much like your babyhood has ended, i desperately try to remember it is also a beginning.  beginnings often masquerade as endings & endings as beginnings.  they are one in the same.  you can't have one without the other, i soothe my crumpled spirit.  i know all to well i have been the one to teach busyness, to exemplify hurry, to push forward. but no need to panic.  just slow.  a pausing of time.  so i can see, i can experience, i can savour the way those blue eyes sparkle when they get into mischief.

"i be right back! but don't miss me mom cause, cause, cause i be riiiiight back!" you climb your tower of toys & jitter off into the kitchen.  my heart hurts just a little, knowing this won't be the last good-bye.

it was you, no so long ago who made me a mother.  who welcomed me into womanhood.  oh the things you have taught me so far, so invaluable. a lifetime of things in just your short little life.  how will i face the rest of my life, the rest of my womanhood, without a babe clutching to my hip - or rather me clutching to my babe?  and i forget, it was Him who grew me through all of the diapers, all the sleepless night, all the will breaking tantrums.  and it is Him who be there through the next phase. isn't that just life's journey? life's purpose? to grow. to grow up.  to grow old & wise.  to move on, move forward, move homeward.  to gaze upon Him who never changes & change.

and so let's gaze together.  let's begin together. let's grow up & walk brave, humble & onward towards maturity together in this long life of adventure.

you return to your mountain top of toys, blue eyes grinning over the precipices & you giggle as you push through to the other side.  "i back mom. no missing me. i back!"  

eyes to see, eyes to change {letters to micaiah}

i meant to post this last week but our internet has been badly misbehaved the last number of days... my apologies!  this post is about unwrapping everyday moments to fully dwell in their loveliness. like a net catching all of the moments that flutter by so quickly.  i am holding them captive.  making the most out of them.  see {these are the letters that love wrote} for more info on this new little addition to my blogging life.

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"eye, eye..." your little chubby finger tickles the end of my eyelashes.

"eyes, eyes..." i repeat after you.

"no, no..." you gently pat the end of my nose with your open palm.

"nose, nose..." i pinch your cute button nose.

"mou, mou?" you tap my chin with your tiny little hand, trying to close my mouth.

"mouth, that's right kai!"

and you start over again... "eye, eye..." your sweet little features squint.  there is nothing sweeter than your gentle touch, your tiny lips trying their best to sound out each syllable.

i look deep into those dark eyes of yours & i think of all the things you will see in your lifetime.  all of the wonderful, incredible things awaiting to be seen by you.  all the vibrant colours of countries laid deep in your heart.  they wait for you.  all the ugly, scary things wait too only they wait for the Christ in you.  as your mother, i cringe as i think of all the ugly, all the terrible.  it is only instinct to want to shelter, to protect you.  but i know i can only shield you from it for a short time.  for soon enough, you will see the decay, the overwhelming need.  you will smell the stench of death, the terrible oppression & putrid poverty.  you will only be overwhelmed, not overtaken, momentarily.  this is necessary. but you will come to see that you have the solution.  deep down inside of you.  you are the change.  the bittersweet, sour turned to sweet, savoury. you might man of valour, you with Christ in you, will change the world with those eyes.

heaven blew every trumpet {letters to livi}

the dimple in your right cheek as you smile big, as you dream big.  eyelashes flutter, tiny toe twitches, tiny pink fingers grip tight to my finger as you drift in & out of sleep.

you are perfect.

i play with your ten toes, run my finger over your soft skin. perfect.

they said i'd never tuck you in at night, never kiss that button nose of yours, never sing you to sleep.  they said you'd never make it to my arms.

and here you are, my arms full of a perfect miracle.  a miracle Love made.  i clutch you closer.  my cheek against yours as you breath soft.  i count every breath.  i think of all the moments, all the days, minutes that they said would never happen.  and chest heaves, tears well with thankfulness for every second, every poopy diaper, every cry in the night.  this is what i prayed for.  to hold you in my arms. this is what i fought for.

after an imagination barren pregnancy, too afraid to entertain what-ifs, i sit here now and dream extravagantly along with you. how daddy will dance for you, how we'll laugh under the maple, how i'll braid your hair or snuggle at day's end.  how you'll look at me with those pure piercing eyes & i'll feel it well up it within me. that crazy love. that love we fought for, cried for, longed for.

looking at you, i stare straight into the face of God's goodness & mercy.

you were born a miracle.  every chromosome knitted together by His knowing hand, every hair counted.  against all the odds, all the impossibilities.  you were born, perfect.

i will never stop thanking.  i will never stop treasuring you.
you are the child that miracle birthed little livi verona.
wear life bravely for you are the one we fought for.

"heaven blew every trumpet & played every horn on the wonderful, marvelous night you were born."

~ nancy tillman, on the night you were born

these are the letters that love wrote {love letters}

i am adding another fixture to the blog!  i have decided to write a love letter to my kids each week. not all of them every week, although there is plenty enough material, but each of them in their turn. i want to write them my love in hopes of immortalizing something.  how they inspired, how they convicted, how they changed me forever.  i don't ever want them forget how fiercely they are loved, chocolate smeared face & all.  i don't think i could ever quite accurately articulate just how much i love them.  but it's worth a try.
and so, these are the letters that love wrote.