Not Room Enough To Receive

I see.

I am learning to notice, to pause, to appreciate.

But how can I record when the moments demand all of my attention?

The windows of heaven are open and the blessing moments are spilling, flowing, rushing.

Pouring down upon me and around me, carrying me away.  

Gifts of long eyelashes and chubby hands

Of foot pain and sinus headaches that remind me of his suffering and therefore his love

Of gloriously beautiful views of the lake.  A different color every day--always beautiful or at least interesting.

Gifts of stumbles and tiredness and problems I can't solve.

Of the grass.  The lovely soft green grass that was only imagination when we moved here.

Of kids hurting from bullies, from toothaches, from sick stomach, from giant warts, from imperfect parenting.

Of homemade love notes and creations with staples and tape and cereal boxes that overflow my kitchen and my heart.

Of soccer games and concert and play and Shakespeare camp.

Of hours gathering costumes and hours away from babies and hours of pure enjoyment with youth.

I was alone once.  There atop a mountain tending a fire.  I saw or heard no other person.  Alone.

But I saw that there was much to notice.  Leaves emerging from dead looking branches.  Clouds moving quickly across a blue sky.  An owl hooting.  The fire--it was truly licking the logs. 

I was not alone. 

As I noticed all that loves to be noticed, I remembered each of my children.  Memory photos flicked across my mind.  Moments captured but impossible to describe. 

I was noticed. 

They love to be noticed by me and I love to be noticed by Him and he loves to notice even hairs on my head and logs being licked. 

As stars appeared I wondered about His home and which way should I look to see Him?

All ways.  In every direction.  In all of the moments.  In all of the gifts he sends.

In conversations with friends where we both leave feeling edified.

In spontaneous family soccer games in the back yard.

In months and months of enduring the failure to get up and do the routine.

In the satisfaction of slow mornings full of snuggles.

In the thoughts expressed two-year-old fashion.  Remarkable.

In the worry.  Will he be okay without mommy milk?

In the disappointment that weaning does not mean full nights of sleep.

In the pleasure of hearing his voice from his little room, speaking so clearly: "I'm ready to snuggle, mom." 

"I need a drink because my milk all gone."  9 words!  I think he is a genius!

In the new look of two kids now in glasses.

In orthodontic bills over 6 thousand dollars!  Really?  Even there?

Yes, because I know He will provide.  He will show us the way.

In the surprise of a snowblower gift.  A gift of generosity that will help us look forward to winter even while spring snow still gleams atop our mountain. 

Our mountain is so beautiful in spring.  All shades of green below, rising to purest white, topped with bluest sky.  I live in such splendor!

Cars and washers and the roof need fixing.

The plants are dying in the garden.  I can't seem to keep up with it all.

But I am growing.

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