The Invitation of the Now

A click.  Its captured.  Recorded.  The elusive time moment is frozen, hardened.  Movement stops.  Stays.  Stands.  Like a fossil it is preserved for cherishing, treasuring.

An otherwise fluid moment is caught like fire fly.  Her light now owned by the mason jar bearing her light.  Beauty imprisoned by walls of glass.

The eyes, the heart , the mind can now savor, like penny candy lasting long and slow.Each suck and lick and chew hanging on tongue and lip.

All flavor intensified in the slow linger of drawn out enjoyment.

These all that we have moments are sitting there for the capture like warm bread from the oven calls out to butter come melt over me now while I am hot and fresh. Now is the time for you to slide down my hot sides in rivers of oozing you.

Like full moon invites come gaze on me now while the fullest and whitest of me is hanging out  dancing for you.  Your pleasure.  He knows tomorrow the bright and the white and the shine will dim.  He knows the peak of his beauty like ripe sweet melon is now.  Only now. His waning to come, still beautiful but less intense.

She invites.  Come watch this sweet, so sad, beautiful humanity captured on film.  Invitation gold leafed and precious.  Poignant.  I delay.  Can we wait.

It never waits.  They can’t.  They weren’t designed for such.  Their moment is now.  If lost, they are less.  They are less than they were ever designed to be.  Like ripe is over ripe or under ripe.   Their perfection, these fruits, these moments, is in the just right timing.  Their present.  Their gift.

As I lay head down after day I say, can we watch this short piece about life together, this film.  I’ve gone to bed now momma is the reply.

So the delay meant loss.

But today as His Mercies are new, so is the opportunity to grab hold of the gift of the now.  The present.  The mundane.  The Big.  The Right Here.

We’re circled round these precious ones in my Lenten Bible Study.  His Lenten Bible Study, really.  He just allowed me to be a part.  Called to join and participate.

And we rest there for a bit.  On these moments of passing others.  Like cars up and down 17 in blur and in frenzy we often pass the one in need of a word.  That small acknowledgement of one to another that we see, we hear, we’re here,  we feel, we want to know. And we agree to hold each other to account.  Thats good.  Always good.  Did you slow down enough to ask and bless with words.  Did you ratchet down the pace long enough to exchange words of Love and blessing.  Did you look into those telling eyes long enough to seek out and welcome what burden of humanity they may need to share.  If only asked to.

Were you present in the present? Were all your senses engaged and fully awake?

And today has its moments to record and document in the heart and soul.  But  the historian has to be awake and still and always with pen in hand to record them. To live them fully and abundantly.  To absorb and soak in.

Counting the Gifts.

Life After the Nest

Linked by love of daughter and sport we sit hip to hip while day turns the corner to night.

A beautiful story dances off her lips, grace notes from God. Her life story. And in the linking up of momma time I receive blessing, the love marks, the inticate orchestration of time and events reveal His love.

A ball, a court, a game, and a room full of mothers hearts.

Time blurs by as balls bounce. We agree life is in the game. Lines blur differences between us, similarities soothe like bees sweet honey on red raw throat. Mothers hearts rest in comfort on common ground.

Balls whirl, whiz past ear grazing hair, body. We dodge right to miss blows, strikes, bruising of balls — life.

And hope pours through her words. I latch on.

A plan is bubbling for the Childs release outside of mommas nest. It oozes Joy and Hope and Delight. And I grab the kite tail of her hope for self. Knowing that after nest life can teem with life and good just as afterbirth does.

She invites, come ride. A break for coffee. She intices with promise of the more of the story.I decline, feeling the need to absorb story alone. Excitement invigorates and drains. Both, and. But I wait for the words bottled in her. Like effervescent bubbles shaken in need of release. Story shaken will burst forth soon.

And there is more. More Hope. Hope floats over our time and claims she has a handle on this mommas child’s life in the days, years ahead. Hope paints life with brush strokes of Promise and glory days. Glorious days of growing up and going on. Hope declares her delight in the future.

A daughter, a child drops cold on hard court and the air stills, stained with fear of pain. The moments expand while medics rush in. A brush with injury cripples the mothers hearts with what if’s. But all will be well. All is well this time.

Her hope for the future and her knowing that the plan is good takes shape in my dream. The life for my child is colored freshly with shades of redemption. Beautiful shades of hopeful life color.

Inspired by God’s mark on a life and the certain knowing that He desires perfect pairing of life and love They bring a measure of perfect peace.

Like narcissis push through cold earth blanket covers, a nod toward tomorrow’s potential, so she declares bold yellow promise for tomorrow.

But I want the end of the story, an ending wrapped up in Good. Frail Trust like a weary athlete ready to bow to defeat, wobbles, wanes—this is my trust.

This dance repeats daily. Hope grabs weak Trust and steps out with Joy to continue on the Life Dance. And authentic, honest, real life stories invite words of hope, healing.

She threads more sentences with pain parts, plans diverted, struggles. We link hearts on story of battle, disorder, changing tides, loss, love and heart-ache, brokeness. Hope waits patiently to step back in.

Balls stop bouncing, zinging, flying, whizzing by and play winds down, ends. And I’m stitching her Hope into the future of my child’s life.

I rest calmly, for now, knowing my fledgling one will find covering in Hope.

The end is uncertain.

But the Hope part is clear.

He leads, we follow.

The nest will have one less.

The time is measured in increments of love and Trust

“I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out — plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.” —Jeremiah 29:11