oh, my baby.
it has been much too long since i sat down to write to you.
and maybe longer since i wrote from my heart.
it takes much breath and blood to dig deep. pour out.
to write to you and remind to me what i want us both to hear.
tonight i find i reminisce with somewhat of a heavy spirit. not sad, just weighty.
as i stood in front of our fireplace tonight, warming my ever frigid feet,
i tried to remember. piece back together. how the past few years went.
has it really been three years since your daddy insisted on carrying me over the threshold of this door?
our humble home before this one seems like a lifetime ago. rather, someone else’s lifetime altogether.
so much life has happened while we’ve lived under this roof.
i remember the day we gathered all our friends and family to break it in. some close, some we hoped would become close. so much has happened in our little world since that day.
some friendships are stronger.
some have vanished completely.
marriages have since began, some have ended.
new life has been born, and loved ones lost.
neighbors we never got to know.
family we wished were much nearer.
so much life has happened while living in this home.
three short years. its funny when you say that. short years. it always sounds so reminiscent. as if they’ve gone by too fast. too quick to enjoy, the moments slipped through your fingers. some i suppose have.
you should know, sweet child, i have the most terrible memory. some might say it’s a blessing. there are many moments of my life i’m glad i’ve almost forgotten. but there are also many more i choose to always remember. that’s why i started writing these words to you so many months ago. already i read back on them, forgetting they’ve been written until i read them. and i am inexplicably blessed.
so here i sit. half of me wishing i was under the covers, letting it be easier to be distracted by some media rather than process through these things. but i know. these are things i’ll want to tell you. the honesty of your mama’s days. things i must write down to remember. that life will sometimes ask for perseverance and endurance. you won’t always move on to the next step when you are finished with the last. sometimes Jesus asks you to wait. maybe not no, just not yet.
three long years. its funny when you say it like that. long years. it seems so disheartened. as if they’ve drug on and you’ve wish they had whisked by faster. some days i am tempted to whisk them by. plead with Jesus that, we’re ready. 3 years has been long enough. i’m ready to go home.
but at what cost? what do i lose by wishing we were there?
now. today. right here. you. us. this.
long years? maybe. i often wish i could tell my younger self wisdom i wish i’d known.
but tonight it seems i’m desperately trying to hear the heart of the me twenty years my senior.
stay, young mama. stay right there in this moment.
i know it seems that this house is no longer your home.
this zip code is no longer your city.
but these minutes you’re wishing would pass you by are your life.
there is no distinction between big ones and small ones.
each minute is one more minute to love. cherish. respect. redeem.
twenty years of minutes have gone by and some nights i wish i could have just one back.
stay, sweet young mama. stay right there.
tomorrow will come too quickly.
soon this day too will feel like someone else’s life.
today’s hours seem longer than yesterday’s. but take heart.
if the walls surrounding you are defining your joy, hear these words.
in the past twenty years it’s not the walls i remember.
not the sink where i washed dishes
or the carpet that i cleaned.
rock your baby five minutes longer.
hug your husband just a little closer.
look out your window, breathe in deeper.
this, sweet mama, is your life.
please don’t miss it wishing some things different.
it’ll be here when you get here. don’t rush it away.
tomorrow always comes with a price.
promise me. promise you.
that when you walk your sweet baby down an all too special aisle,
send the last little off on their adventures,
close the chapter of yet another book,
you can say with a sigh, i didn’t. miss. a moment.
stay, young mama. stay right where you are.
so. where ever you are. whoever you’re becoming. right now. in this moment. stay.
tomorrow will come all on it’s own.
our job is just live in today and love it for all its moments.
you’ll help me remember, tiny baby. one look at your sweet face and you always do.