I'm finding it hard to work up the motivation to write.
I just don't feel like I have much to say lately, not much that isn't just nonsense rambling anyway.Scattered thoughts, as random as the images I stop to capture.
Sleepy thoughts. Mostly happy thoughts.
Yesterday, I was finally going to write, but instead, I finally decided to tackle this:
Well, to be fair, that was after I dumped everything out to sort it, their room didn't actually look like that until I started cleaning, but it may as well have.
And I feel like a million times better about life all of a sudden, because now it looks like this:
And for the next 3 days, their toys are all neatly stacked in their closet, in their appropriate bins. And doesn't our book nook look cozy?Lately, a lot of my thoughts have been about pretty. And about beautiful.
In my mind, whenever I describe something as pretty it is basically superficial. There is very little depth to it, and no complications. It's light, and fluffy, and easy.
But beautiful- it can be dark colored, complicated. It can even have a little dirt on it.
The sunset over the stillness of the river, with its pinks and oranges and shadows of twilight is pretty.
The ocean, on a stormy day, with its dangers and currents, and power.
But pretty is temporary. It's pumpkins and apple cinnamon candles, and furniture that matches.
Beauty, is eternal
Beauty is picking up your just-turned-5-month-old for the 7th time in one night. The way his feet curl into your stomach, and your arm curls around his head, and the way you know he is experiencing the utmost comfort, and the way you don't resent it, because soon you'll be pushing him through the Kindergarten room door, and you won't be able to comfort him the way you used to.
And beauty is when you make your 6 year old share his bike, even when he really doesn't want to, and while he is crying, he comes up to you, silently, and takes your hand in his, of his own accord, for the first time in weeks.
But I think it will mostly be beautiful. So awesome, that it's a little scary. But in a way that makes you feel brave at the very same moment that you feel so small.
Life is really tiring right now. Everything just feels really...unfinished. And it is.
There are so many details that feel so important, and so many plates spinning that the crashing doesn't even feel surprising anymore.
And it feels so familiar, like a worn in shoe, and so new and hope filling.And so tiring. And I long for more.
And some days, when I am particularly tired, I pray that I would remember my first Love, and I ask God why He is often so quiet, and I ask Him if He loves me, even though I know the answer.
Just as Greystoke rolled his body up on top of me, and lifted his head so his eyes met mine, and he writhed in his whole body grin, and I felt loved,
God sent help. Just when I needed it most.
But playing handyman with your son when he is wearing nothing but a tool belt and is 5 minutes away from his next meltdown?
And I'll take beautiful.