In the springtime, I always notice how much bigger my children are. They put on their summer clothes, and those arms and legs stretch out so long, longer than their whole bodies when I used to cuddle them close to me in the middle of the night. They stand up proud and smiling with their classmates to get their end-of-the-year awards, and I’m amazed at those minds; they know so much more than what they’ve learned from me. And then Mary Chapin Carpenter comes up singing Dreamland on my shuffled playlist; it’s the lullaby I sang to every one of my babies… wasn’t that just a couple of days ago? But there’s no little one taking a morning nap in this house; it’s just me here alone, while they’re all off finishing another year of school.
What was I thinking…
to close my eyes and turn around?
It was just for a second, but
at a sound behind me, I glanced back and saw
My infant daughter
(who should be lying on her blanket, contentedly sucking her fingers;
fascinated by the shoes I’ve slipped on to her feet
-they jingle every time she kicks.)
she’s sitting upright
at the kitchen table
gracious and lovely,
that because of God’s great love we are not consumed
for his compassions never fail.
She barely stumbles over Lamentations’ four syllables;
the jingly shoes are gone forever;
and I’m slightly in awe of this life that came from me.