“Spell that.” He said.
“C h a s e d” I replied.
He smirked, as he does, and looked at me with those knowing eyes.
I read them for a change, instead of demanding he use words.
“Oh. Ha! Yeah, I don’t feel chaste. Though maybe the one would help the other.”
-excerpt from a very lovely conversation with Mr. Phenomenal
Most days it is possible for me to quiet these existential
discussions in my head
To calm all of this questioning of The World to a whisper
And mother my children with playful abandon
Today is not one of those days
Today I struggle to set down the Journal and the Book
To glance up from the pages of words I am devouring
There are certainly many days when the sight of my
Emmy is enough to stop whatever thinking I am doing and cause me to stare in
wonder at the miracle that is my daughter, when her walking up to me to ask for
a cup of water results in my hands cupping her sweet face and the two of us
sitting nose to nose admiring the sacred beauty placed within us. There are days when Gabe walking up to give
me a nonchalant hug results in him curled up in my lap and me stroking his baby
soft hair, and a few moments of us comprehending to the best of our abilities our
Most days, my children, my lovely life, this thing called
motherhood, pulls me out of my own head and heart. Most days my journaling is kept to after
nightfall and the escape of reading is held off until bedtime. Many, many days I am so utterly content to
observe with awe the loveliness of the messy curls on the back of Grace’s neck
as she bounces through the house singing out her own songs. And certainly many days I am more than happy
to listen to Griffen’s brilliant, creative, intense and funny ramblings. Oh and stare at his freckles, I am most
certainly more than happy to stare at his freckles, they are divine.
Quite simply put, most days I am enamored with the beauty of
my everyday life. And oh do I feel loved
when I contemplate the blessings I’ve been given. But there is this thing, this knowledge that I
hold, this awareness that I was meant to do something. I was placed here for a reason, called out
is what has been said to me. And I feel
that, all too deeply some days.
Sometimes it sits on me like a warm familiar blanket and I
hug it close, this called out feeling. All of the listening and praying
and reading and writing feel so full of life and meaning and importance. And I embrace it, I love it, I know it,
always have. I feel driven to be better,
to be good, to be perfect so that at last I can do this… whatever it is that I
am called out to do. There are mornings
spent all the way in to afternoons of working away at being good enough and knowing enough
so that one day I will finally be ready to help myself and others be… Loved.
How wrong is that- to be working away at simply feeling loved?
There are days though, or moments at least when I feel so
terribly chased, so hunted. Times when
arrows are shot so precisely at me that I can only assume there is a target
somewhere on me and an archer not far off. And
in those times, there are slivers of moments when I think Just lay down,
just be quiet, just stop all the working all the striving all the noise of
preparing yourself for something greater.
Shhh, be still. Stop, stop, stop. Scary, yes, hearing voices is. Sounds insane I’m sure, and trying to hone in
on those voices and decipher them sounds even more insane. But it is alas what I am want to do some
Here I am then stuck in this strange conundrum. Feeling more love on days when I don’t think
so hard about it and feeling guilty on those days for not thinking hard about
it. So today, I am saying, or Somebody is-
child, peace, peace, peace. And