I paint butter onto rolls of dough before placing them in the oven. Warmth rushes against my face skin as I place the sheet of bread in to bake.
pastry brush dripping butter.
The children rush and calm and I put together a dinner of leftovers – provisions of friends’ hands and hearts. The corn cobs boil and soften and I drain pot in sink. And pause. The sun dances shadows across the grass. Trees stretched tall and green. The trunks grow and the branches stretch, and none too soon they provide ample shade.
My children grow too. Their torsos lengthen and their motor skills turn fine. They laugh and crawl and walk and run. They babble and speak and then never stop chattering. Their minds develop and their curiosity grows and they seek to satisfy a thirst deep within souls small.
His cries turned to pain. Funny how motherhood teaches you things you never thought you’d learn, much less need to know. The difference of the tantrum being thrown defiant and that of a pain that turns his body. I heard it. That change. That quieting that came after the tantrum, the turn of the cry of my son to signal me to him. Pain.
He said his nose hurt. And he was all tears and stuffiness and sobs. Not until after he drank down his allergy medicine did he look at me. And the tightening in my chest. The immediate rise of fear and panic and rush of blood through valves in heart. His eyes. never. looked. like. that. Swollen as though there were marbles underneath- in that space that turned blackish blue when his tiredness showed weary on his face.
Allergies. The rubbing of his eyes when they itched hard. An airborne allergen could do this to my son. Swell this face of my child and cause heart to panic to the depths of my own fragile self.
And I had abandoned it. That thanking of grace gift. Abandoned it to the moment of fear that I gave myself to completely and without a second thought. I clock watched, paced, and gathered boy-child into arms to rush to car and doctor and store for medicines.
And I see it now.
After eye drops and medicine and cuddling with the child I have labored with from pregnancy to three years old- to this right now. And it is here.
In the help and the surroundings and the doctors. And all provisions of Him who sees and knows and is. And all is grace. All is gift.
The corn sits in sink all yellow with kernels plump and ready for the mouths. And I gaze out window. Lost in sun-rays and shadows. In a year the trees will be taller. In a day the grass will be cut. In two months my children will have baby brother new and small. And all is fleeting. And time doesn’t slow.
So I enter into this now. This grace of this day.
weather cold and sunlight bright.
children napping easy and playing sweet.
cuddles gentle and personalities full.