Monthly Archives for March 2012

stashing rubies

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It’s a gray, warning afternoon. A storm promises to whip through and shake all the pods down from the mighty oaks, if nothing else.

I want to remember how yesterday, in the quiet of a rare peaceful homework time, I heard the hum of water running.

“Little One?” I called. “What are you doing?” He was washing the red bits of crayon off of his yellow crayon. His little nubbin hands wrapped around that fat yellow thing. So assured.

I want to remember how our wiry oldest one pulled TWO! new library books out of his bag. His words spilling out so fast.

And we broke the teacher’s rule. One whole book start to finish before the next one. But that shelved book smell and the crinkle of the cellophane wrap and the promise of adventure were too much. I want to remember the bright blue of his eyes and his smattering of freckles all filled with the the hope of something new.

I want to remember how it feels to be close after sharp words and bruised egos. When the hurt is still raw, it helps more than anything to be close-pacing my breathing to my husband’s.

I want to remember how 11 years have changed him from wisp to solid and how he breathes so steady. I want to tuck away how a morning walk told me that it wasn’t all that important and the soft breeze of the fan felt fresh when I said no to hurt and yes to healing.

I am storing up. Stashing away the ruby toned moments that I so often overlook in my listing and in my perfectioning. They sparkle, shimmer, shore up.

not exact answers but more

Hey, Mary-Beth? You and your french fry cravings won the print! Email me! I’ll get you set up with Jessi. I loved every single comment on that post. Y’all play along so well.

Well. Here’s some truth. Lately I have been a bit of a Gideon, looking for God’s goodness in the exact answer to my exact prayer.

The sweet and good thing about Him is that He isn’t moved by my stomping foot and shaking fists. He is staid on what is best for me. On what is best for others.

So. Instead of lamenting the themes in my life and wondering why He doesn’t answer the way I would like, I’ll do this instead.

I’ll thank Him for the opportunity to serve that took me past this old, well loved science table. Just free. On the side of the road. I used to be too proud to pull over and load up. But not anymore. The thing is that I’ve been looking for a writing desk of sorts for our oldest. It turns out that children actually do grow and nine-year-olds don’t really delight in sitting at preschool sized tables when they’re masterminding lego creations.

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I was worried it might be too well-loved to be brought back but my daddy laid eyes on it and now we have a plan. We’re working together. He’ll build a new top and I’m cleaning up the the base with some fresh paint. For now we’ll leave the slots open for books but I have no doubt that my father can whip some drawers up if he needs to. If you don’t know about my dad and his skills, then read here about how he built a bed out of my dreams and airy sketches.

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I’ll thank Him, too, for a spring walk with that very same nine-year-old. We ambled through our neighborhood listening for the springtime bees and wondering at some magnolia branches that shot ram-rod, straight up. And at the end? When I said thank you for this time? He said that it was fun. I had to sop up that earnestness he gave me, his freckled face and grin like hot gravy on a flaky biscuit.

spring. is. here.

It’s a sickness, really. But I’ll thank Him for sweet and new friends who come over and rearrange with me. I can’t seem to leave anything be for too long. But I’m letting this settle in a bit before I make any decisions. Small changes can make the light shine brighter and the space seem freer. And soul friends make you feel just a wee bit less like a hot mess.

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He’s in the business of this, our great God. Of giving small joys for us to treasure and store up if we’ll quiet our stomping foot and release our shaking fist.