5.23.21 Ever-So-Much-More

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Sometimes you ask me if I’m still attracted to you. After being together for 20 years, I feel I must be failing somewhere if you must ask … so here is my answer to that question evermore. Let it now be a closed issue.

I simply adore you

without strings and beyond reason

If someone asks me, “Where is home?”

Your name is my answer

I am not simply attracted to you –

you are my North

the gravity keeping my heart grounded

and my spirit close

In some ways I hate the words “I love you,”

because they are insufficient

As a lover and weaver of words

you can’t imagine how frustrating it is to know so many …

and not be able to craft them together to say enough

And so you

my life … I want you to listen closely

Read and reread as you must, but know

unequivocally

you must trust that what I feel for you is

beyond words

beyond years

beyond the etches of time wearing themselves into us both

beyond what you view as your imperfections

(and what I view as your charms)

beyond benefit or lust

beyond convenient and settled

Honestly?

I don’t think I’d know me without you,

because the best parts of both of us,

exist outside of us both

with their own sets of journeys,

but they only exist because God set our paths to cross

What serendipity.

And so I have one thing left to say –

thank you for choosing me

over and over again

even when I wouldn’t choose myself

especially then

I love that I see you in him

I love that I see you in her

echoes of your laughter and your compassion

reincarnated in another set of lives

Imagine that love … the kind that becomes a legacy

So no

I am not simply “attracted” to you

I am written into the pages of your story

sharing breaths

sharing atoms

sharing ever-so-much-more

than I love you’s

5.16.21 Voiceless

Yesterday my son texted me a picture of a bird’s nest that he and his cousin found when they were playing baseball outside. A perfect, manilla colored egg lay atop the nest. It would have been a happy discovery indeed, but when when I scrolled in to look closer, right beneath the egg, I realized that the top layer of the nest was green, plastic netting, commonly used as lawns are being made … not grown … created. It hurt to see; so I wrote.

I’m afraid we’ve failed you –

again

And I’m afraid no one remains

unaffected

less protected

or more rejected

than those who have no voice to raise

How is it that we have fallen so far

from Eden?

from grace?

from the commission to

take care

or

be aware

Instead we close our eyes

and compromise

our virtue for value

and sustainable

for easily attainable

I’m so sorry

and I know it’s not enough

It hurts …

this separation of who we were called to be

and what we’ve become instead

I’m afraid there isn’t much time to fix things

to fix us

to mend your broken heart

to mend our broken place

But I promise to try

to use the voice I still have

even if it’s barely a whisper

You say actions speak louder

so that brings me some comfort

I guess this is me

taking one more step

5.4.21 Beyond Bearing It

Sometimes, when I can’t fall asleep, I sift through pictures in my mind of before. I lie in bed, heart pounding, throat throbbing, repressed tears threatening to absolutely overwhelm me if I let them – because of this gift, and how quickly it’s passing me by.

Of him.

Of her.

Of becoming a mother and remembering every detail that my too-fast life with them will let me recall. Memories come back to me in fragmented bits … little pieces of stained glass that join together in an endless collage of colors and lenses I miss looking through.

I am so blessed.

But love – love this big … quite simply, it hurts.

It hurts because even when you try to savor every second, they still pass. It hurts because the world isn’t perfect and they are … so you need it to be, but can’t change it. It hurts because even when they’re too big to crawl up onto your lap, a part of them wants to, so you hold on instead for a too long hug – and it never feels like enough.

When she was nine months old, I was about to put her in bed, and she placed her tiny hands on either side of my face. She held me there, and stared at me so intently … her bright eyes telling me all the things she couldn’t say, but found a way to share nonetheless.

When he was off to his first day of Kindergarten – unafraid and excited for whatever came next, I asked him for one more hug. “For me buddy, not for you,” I’d said. He smiled big and hugged me tight. “It’s okay mommy,” he whispered in my ear, “I’ll miss you too.” Taking care of my heart at five, and checking in with me ever since.

She is my starlight. He is my keeper.

And though I am the farthest thing from what they deserve, I am on-my-knees grateful that God gave them to me … even for a time as fleeting as this. Because although I know I love imperfectly, I also know I love them fully – to the very edge of myself, almost beyond bearing it.