The Gift

You thought I had a talent for babbling? You had no idea. This post goes on forever. If you only have a few moments, please scroll down to the story the title refers to. It's in green text. If you have more time, stay for a while, endure my babbling. It's a rare bit of vulnerability I'm sharing today. Everyday is a gift. In my ripe, fossilized age of 32 years, I'm old enough to realize that now. I know I'm not indestructible. I know my time on earth is finite. Every morning that the sun rises to a new day of smiles from my children and new chances to not repeat the mistakes of yesterday is a blessing. But this evening I was given an extra special gift from God. A moment that I'm still carrying with me and treasuring up in my heart. I'll share it with you in a moment. But first. I am in love with this blog. I have created this cozy space all for myself. It's all mine, and everything in it is special to me. I don't regret one single word typed here, one picture uploaded, and certainly not the new friends made. I haven't made any special effort to keep my posts lighthearted and sanguine, but that has been its natural tendency. That is just the way this blog has bloomed. It has bloomed straight from my heart. It's something that is all my own. Only, I don't want to keep it to myself. I love that you're here! For as long as I can remember, there have been people in my life whose voices have always been larger and louder than mine. Their personalities come across stronger and more robust than mine, and I become a mouse. Somewhere along the line (and probably in several places along the line) I learned that what I said or thought was Stupid. Foolish. Irrelevant. Not As Important. That belief lead my mind to second guess itself in every exchange. Coherent words leave my brain and make their way to my tongue. But by the time they reach my tongue, enough self-doubt squeezes its way in to enact a gag order. I learned a long time ago that it's usually best to keep quiet. But there are times when it really hurts not to be heard. When the people I want to acknowledge and validate me the most just bulldoze over me with their own powerful or dismissive nature. For the most part, though, I have learned to be gracious. Due, in part, to the fact that for the first time in my 32 years, I know that my worth rests in the gentle, capable hands of Christ. I don't need to be heard or exalted in this world because He hears me. Every word uttered, every thought conceived is important to Him. I am a child of God. That is my identity. I find that when I'm surrounded by big, overbearing voices, if I can just settle into quietude, surrender the competition, I can find clarity. I don't drown, as I had feared. Rather, I'm buoyed by God's voice whispering peacefulness into my heart. But despite all that, I have enjoyed such exhilaration from having my voice heard on this blog. Or maybe it's because of learning those lessons that I now have the freedom to enjoy it. My wish to be heard is coming from the right place. I don't need to be amazing. I don't need others to tell me I'm important. I just want to share what I love and have a feeling of connection with others who can relate or who just take cheer in reading what I write. I absolutely relish having this space and having you here makes it a warmer, safer space to do all those things. A blog blossoming with flippant, merry accounts of my life (packaged as some kind of bizarre cooking show?) does not mean that I have a smile on my face every day. There are days when my heart is deflated. There are days when I'd rather stay in bed than greet the day with a fresh perspective. I have trials and worries and misgivings. I have headaches, an intermittent pain in my left knee and bouts of vertigo. I have struggled with anxiety from the time I was old enough to be self-aware. I flirted with depression after my twins were born. I carry shame, that I can not live down, like luggage, everywhere I go. I have genes that I would be devastated to pass on to my children. I have secrets that are dark. For now, I just choose not to air them out here. For now, this blog has developed into a place of joy. Maybe it won't always be like that. But for now. And so, I've been thinking for some time about writing a post about gratitude. Contentment. I told Relyn that I love to wallow in my contentment. I wallow in it because there's a lot of discontent to be waded through each day. But if I can sort through it, I can always find that oasis of contentment, and there I wallow! Even on the worst day, my oasis can be that God is still my savior, my help in times of trouble. Relyn's blog, Come Sit By My Fire, is probably one of the most peaceful places I've ever visited on the internet. I saw she had a category "A Habit of Gratitude" which takes you to a collection of blessings counted. I love that. That, in part, spurred this post. The other part is the story I've been waiting to tell you. The gift.

The twins were in their high chairs. Dee was lovingly drooling on and softly murmuring "dah dah" to a green plastic spoon. Bex was so drowsy that he was in a trance, staring out the kitchen window. I was sitting in a kitchen chair facing the twins and a groggy Bug was in my lap, snuggling in to my chest. I could feel her hot little hands held tightly to my back, sometimes gently patting. I sat there running my fingers through her wispy blond hair that smelled like grapefruit and quietly singing along to a Nichole Nordeman cd playing in the background,

"Not well-traveled, not well-read.

Not well-to-do or well-bred.

Just wanna hear instead

'well done good and faithful one'."

I joke about the chaos that goes on in this house, and while exhausting and sometimes trying, I love it. But this was a rare moment of serenity for us all.

I started to reflect on how blessed I am.

Bexie's face was so tranquil, so fair, so dear to me. My eyes were fixated on him. Something snapped his reverie and his eyes met mine. Recognition flooded his angelic face and his serious expression broke into a smile that unmistakeably conveyed his utter adoration for me. I was literally surrounded by love. Engulfed in it. I thought my heart might burst.

I'm passionately addicted to this life I'm living.

That is a gift from God. The whole thing is a collection of small gifts from God. It was a gift to be holding my daughter in my arms. A gift to watch my twins before me. A gift to be conscious of the moment that was unfolding. A gift to have enough sense to cherish it. A gift to see the bigger picture. That though, yes, my life could improve in some areas, though my life may change next year, tomorrow, next hour, where I am right now, this second, is perfection.

What an oasis to wallow in.