Taking a moment

I had to take a moment.

Life has been its whirlwind-self. I can't put the past few weeks, and even months, into words. February was characterized by the incessant idea that our baby boy would be arriving at any moment. After bout and bout of "intermittent labor" I didn't even know what to think anymore. They always say, "You won't be pregnant forever," and I guess rightly so because particularly overdue women often reach this wall that just seems mentally unscalable. There's this strange season of "limbo" when everything seems just as ready and as ripe as can be but the holding pattern continues and you don't really know what to think or do with yourself, or even how to go on doing everyday life. Something should be happening and it just isn't yet. Yeah, well, that was February.

And, as we sauntered into March, the days blurred and blurred right past my due date. It was unexpected even though I had told myself and prepared myself for the scenario. But nothing really does completely prepare you for what life gives you. God gives it, reminding us we are totally out of control. It's humbling and challenging and all sorts of difficult. But finally--finally--he arrived.

But it just hasn't stopped. And I know that is a characteristic of time that we can never change. We have just as much control in slowing it as we do in speeding it up when in angst. It's as though the last weeks have been an explosion fused by appointments and the whir of daily life with a toddler and newborn in tow. And, on top of daily life, other demands on our attention: rental hunting, insurance details, troubleshooting at work for the hubs. My brain, my body, my emotions have been stretched... and stretched. And, because I haven't even really had the time to realize it, I began entering "shutdown" mode.

It hasn't been complete chaos. I have to clarify this. For having a newborn and almost two-year-old, I feel like the day-to-day hasn't been all that bad. But the rest of life hasn't held back. Instead its cluttered in about me, and I'm stuck feeling unable to fully process, fully take in what has gone on around me. Primarily, my sweet, mellow, beautiful, son.

SO I had to take a moment. I had to take the moment to stare into his dark staring eyes. I had to linger over his little features so perfectly placed to his face, tucked into the sweetest head-shape and topped with the most wonderful, static flurry of light brown hair. I had to hold him longer. I had to closely breathe in the newborn scent; still melted into his soft skin. I had to let him relax; his head cupped in the frame of my neck. I had to move him back to my arms and nuzzle him; I had to hold him longer. I had to kiss his forehead. I had to realize him... all over again. I had to think about holding him at birth and grasp at little moments lived over the past few weeks of "him". I had to take a moment and receive, all over again, my unexpectedly big, newborn son. I had to take a moment and just love him there.

And then I took another moment and held him longer. I looked at the canvas picture beside me on the wall, just above the place where he sleeps in our room. I'm standing in my lace gown with long, brown, waved locks streaming down my back. My head is tipped upward where lips meet my husbands. His grey suited arm is gently reached toward me where his hand rests lightly on my arm. I saw us there and took it in: he and I and... wow... this life we're living now. The little people we've made together. And it's so surreal. It's a mystery. And a miracle. And I try to take it in as I take the moment, still holding my son. It's still beyond me.

I went on to pray. I prayed to love well: my son, my daughter, my husband. I thanked God, in so many ways, for His gifts. I gave Him my son. I asked Him for patience and discernment into his little life and personality. I asked for grace to receive him each day, through every phase and stage of his life and growing. And for my daughter, too. I prayed for my husband.

Silent prayers that soaked the moment.

And then I slowly laid my son down; he hardly stirred. I tucked him in and sat for, yet, a moment longer to simply stare and ruminate longer on his features. Then, I got up and tidied our little room: the burp cloths, the blankets, the clothes splayed on our bed. I hung his little hoodie over the bed post.

I then made my way downstairs to put the living room in order. But never had I cherished the task so much. I tucked away the mess of videos and DVDs my daughter had been stacking on the floor. I chuckled to myself when I discovered the "Anne of Green Gables" video in the "Lady and the Tramp" case. I put her disarrayed puzzles back together and put the toys in the big basket where they live. With each small task I relished her little life and the gift she is. The moment was new and warm.

I just had to take a moment tonight. Or, I guess, moments. And, I took in more than I even expected.

windows

It is…. a gorgeous sunny day in Medford, Oregon. I’m banked on each side by daylight-streaming windows and the sweetness of early spring ebbing in. My newborn son lies sleeping near the front picture window while I sit soaking in the stillness the short distance away in our dining room near the back window. Window-side seats have always been my favorite. It’s windows that carry this special characteristic about them; one of inspiration. Looking out at something, setting your gaze beyond what’s in front of you—physically and mentally—and gaining a different perspective. Windows do that.

            I need windows. I would go crazy without them. In saying this, I’m identifying the deeper, more introspective kind of “windows”. Physical ones, when given the time of day (ha! Totally pun intended), often lead me to the mental ones. I seek out things outside of my immediate space to ruminate in (and on) simplicity.

            Today I decided to snag a few moments at my dining table next to the back window with a full view of the big, broad one across the room. I opened my devotional (Sarah Young’s Jesus Calling) and found the sweet reminders I needed. He truly does call me through the simple notes in those pages, offering a wide-open window where the fragrant breeze of His Spirit washes through, filling my heart and my senses. The promises of His word come perfectly to me amidst these little bits of stillness while my newbie sleeps and my tot wakes happily upstairs. They come with the sunshine breaking in to my dim apartment. They welcome me to take that look outside and linger there: hopeful, refreshed, and… at rest.

Thank God for windows.