I wish I could write it better than that. I wish I could put you in my heart and have you feel what I'm feeling for and with these children of mine these long, hot summer days. I feel freshly-tilled like deep rich black soil inside. I'm this drying, compacted field turned over anew to receive the air and sun and be nourished by steady, cooling rains, and planted with fruit-bearing vines.
We've lived and loved together as Mama and children, and the simple beauty of connection has gently rocked us over and over again, but these days feel like booming earthquakes and landslides and torrents of discovery and understanding between us. We're together in ways that we've never been before, and it feels like falling in love.
Bean and I spend evenings reading and talking together, and these times mean more to her than I've ever seen anything mean. She vibrates with joy to see me walk into her bedroom door and lie beside her on her bed. It's a gift of hers to make me feel, when life seems always to be hinting at my expendability, that I am the center of her world (she gets this from her Daddy). These easy times with her - reading and chatting and hugging and laughing - they are so natural and simple, but they don't feel fleeting. They don't tick by spent and over. They dig foundations in me and stack up sturdy to build lasting, permanent heart-structures we'll live together in, she and I the rest of our lives. There, she shares with me from her depths - worries, questions, wishes - and I know we're constructing these places so right, and so good, and I pray we can build them so roomy and so strong and so warm and beautiful and inviting that they will make a welcoming home for our hearts together, forever. I would live with this sweet person anywhere. Her love touches and reminds me that giving away a heart and accepting another in return doesn't always have to be scary or risky. Sometimes it's the easiest, most surprisingly joyful thing in the world. Like sitting very still in the bright sunshine and having a beautiful butterfly land on your shoulder.
Peabody and I spend two hours together in the cool 'noon shade of my bedroom, reading books atop the bedspread but under a soft quilt just for naps, cuddled close, talking softly in short sentences. He's a child who needs me to make him the center of my world. My love for him must be huge and deep, and he must see and feel his special, important place in my heart to be happy and at peace. The biggest love is the only acceptable love in my son's heart. He loves me biggest, and he craves my biggest love back. To be learning this now, to see it in him, this boy who is his mother all over again, pint-sized and masculine, is taking me on such a journey of self-discovery and a power trip, all in one. I understand on such a molecular level the nourishing love and acceptance he craves, and finding I can give this richness to him right out of myself feels absolutely God-washed. I watch what just loving Matthew does to his face, how he soaks my offerings up and they transform his fears and fury into peace and gentleness. I've opened my eyes to see how alike God has made my son and me, and we've fallen into the perfection of this harmonious, organic mother-child relationship, and both found it amazingly good. I'm learning how to give this boy what I've always needed, and he is absolutely lapping it up. How beautiful is that?
This intentional summer has opened my family's days to fun exploration, but now I see the piece I couldn't plan - that togetherness has opened our hearts and souls to discovery of one another on new levels. And you know what? I didn't put that on my bucket list, but oh, I know Who did, and as I fall more deeply in love with the children He's given me, I fall more deeply in awe of our Father.