Tag: Life

Pausing Our Buttons

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 3 Comments

We had some of those moments .

The ones the momma’s heart wants to pause.

Marinate in, soak in, stay in.

Pace teases.  Tempts.  Tortures.  Too fast.  Unfolding lives and life.  Growing up and out.

Speedy time moves,  is spent, evaporates, dissolves. Shore bird stick leggy fast.

It goes  mist steamy, up and out. It goes  kite tail spinning  heavenward, into the blue haze. In the  fog of living, friendly fire takes down the good with misfires.

It goes forward , need for pause or reverse or rewind  ignored. The mommas heart uses all available tools to record.

Rewinding the heart, rewinding the times of these lives. Rushing back when others are moving forward.  Slow to proceed.  Slow to catch up.  Resting on words , phrases and memories that need me to pencil draw them on the memory, the mind. They plead, please jot down.  They beg please take note of us.

A look, a glance, a phrase, not coming in the singular, but the plural.  The multiples, the paired, the groups like flocks of birds.  These moments and transactions of life.

Butterfly net swinging at dizzying speed, the mind sets out to capture the elusive.  Capture the beauty on wing like Monarch migrating through.  Trapping phrase, glance, tone.  Netting the moment.

Living in family, where lives cross paths like crowded landing strips , take offs and landings , schedules , plans, zipping and jet-speeding out and in.  One ill-timed flight pattern, then crash and flames.

Banter back and forth holds keys to life.  No one notices.  Only the mommas heart hears words like clues to future.  Clues to the heart plans, holy grail important. Ignored and almost left for dead.

Slowing down offers hope.  Preserving saves for later.

Resting in words of life saves some casualties.  Recording gives life support to memory.

I rock these lives, slow like baby after nursing for nap.  Slow and steady.  Smell memory. Hold life.

Swinging hard, swinging fast the net of the heart.  Crying out for a pause.  Heart hoping for freeze-frame.

Easter new bring fragile eggshell time.

Easter new bring time in the shadow of His sacrifice.

Easter new bring nets of love in the celebration of His Resurrected Life.

Easter new restore.

Easter new, we thank you for it all, the end all, the be all, the He gave all, looking long in His wonderful face and receiving it all, with gratitude and grace.

wynnegraceappears

Counting gifts with Ann, at A Holy Experience dot com

*Easter planning in the details with a friend

*Steps forward, steps of growth with a son

*Having a sweet sweet comment in my inbox which I am wrapping my heart around with re-reading

*Lab puppies on the maybe horizon

*The end of some sports, the beginning of others

*Sisters

*Holy, Holy, Holy Week

*Glimpsing heirloom eggs at The Fresh Market, going to seek them out

*New Neighbors

*New growth coming back from last year, not expected, offering surprise

*A positive email from the school of the one who’s trying harder

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Thank you for your response. ✨

Life After the Nest

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

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