Archive for the ‘just a word…’ Category
shower spray love
As the scent of ylang-ylang dissipated in our bathroom this morning, I set the shower spray back in its place and laughed. I was remembering Jason’s and my first fight not a few weeks into our marriage.
“I just think you’re using too much,” I told him one morning as he set down the bottle of ylang-ylang shower spray.
“Babe, seriously, how expensive is this stuff?”
“That’s not the point. I just think you’re spraying too much. It’s wasteful.”
“I just don’t think it’s that big a deal.”
We went round and round about the shower spray until silence overtook our weary argument.
And now, three years later, three years into this marriage thing, I can’t help thinking about all the love we’ve laid as our foundation since then. All the times we’ve laughed together, danced alone, cried with each other, and dreamed one another’s dreams. At the same time, I also can’t help seeing all the petty fights and hearing all the words I wish I’d never said. But I suppose when it all comes down, so many of Jason’s and my disagreements are about something deeper than whatever surfacy thing gets our blood hot. It’s about our need for compromise. For communication. For humility. For love. Words we keep learning and steeping ourselves in.
Tiffs are gonna happen. We’re both gonna keep saying stupid things that frustrate one another. And as rookies at this covenant stuff, we still have decades of unfinished business where love is concerned. Because we are unfinished.
But then there’s the hour-long conversation over dirty dishes and cold chicken. There’s our out-loud laughter in the quiet library. There’s a sweet baby boy on the way, the evidence of our overflowing love. And I just can’t imagine that there’s anyone else in the world with whom I’d rather grow and learn. No one else with whom I’d rather journey and fall down and get up again. No one else with whom I’d rather fight over shower spray.
(And, for what it’s worth, Jason was right about the shower spray all along.)
Happy Anniversary, my most beloved.
1 Commentgram
The cardinal outside my window made me think of Gram this morning. If she were sitting here, she would have seen it, too. Would have heard it chirruping and warbling. Would have watched it for a long time, caught up in some thought or prayer.
It would be her birthday tomorrow and, though I may not remember how old she would have been, I remember the important things. Like that Christmas Eve I spent the night at her house.
After we made peanut butter cookies with criss-cross fork marks and a Hershey’s kiss in the center, we spread peanut butter on pine cones and rolled the sticky cones in bird seed. Then we hung our little craft project from her tree just outside the kitchen window and watched for the cardinals. They came all afternoon, bright crimson against the pristine snow.
Gram sang like a bird, too. Her own lilting song filling the house as she hit soprano notes in a steady vibrato that made anyone in hearing distance smile. Her laugh sounded that way, too. A lovely strain of tweets and trills.
I remember so many things about Gram. The way she always smelled of Freedent gum and dime store perfume. The way she ate a triangle-cut, white-bread-and-ham sandwich always with her pinky finger properly held aloft, her long lovely nails making her dainty mannerism all the more elegant. But today I linger on the way she loved birds. And how I can almost hear her singing along with the cardinal at my window.
Or maybe that’s just some memory of her laughter I hear.
1 Commentever growing
I caught a glimpse of myself – my 24-weeks-pregnant self – in the mirror this morning while getting ready. And I started crying.
Because it is beautiful.
The curves.
The ever-growing bulge.
The soft cocoon that is housing my most precious gift.
It is beautiful, this place where he lives and breathes, where his heart beats and legs kick.
Yes, I love my pregnant belly. How could I not love this place that is home and haven to my sweet baby?
2 Commentstype-a list-makers
A friendly tip for fellow Type-A List-Makers:
Save one to-do list. (I know this goes against the very great pleasure you take in admiring your fully crossed-off list or transferring undone items to a new list, and, finally, throwing the beastly list away at the end of the day . . . do it anyway.)
Then look back at it in a month. All the details done and undone.
Remember how keyed up you were about that pile of laundry or that mail-in rebate or the gift for your husband’s step-brother’s step-daughter or making that appointment?
Thirty days, five laundry cycles, and a dozen appointments removed, all those scribbled-off to-dos from January don’t seem so important, do they?
1 Commentdaddy
It was time for Eucharist. And as we sang, “Hosanna in the highest” in preparation, dozens of children scrambled into the sanctuary to find their parents. We knelt and prayed; it was surprisingly quiet. You could have heard a pin drop while the priest broke the Bread. The remaining moments were filled with a melodic rendition of “The Lord’s Prayer.”
But then, just as the first row of congregants was silently directed toward the front to receive the elements, a simple cry echoed against the tall ceiling.
Daddy, the little girl called out.
The reverberation interrupted my awkward and distracted prayers for mercy, for forgiveness, for grace. The solitary exclamation reminded me of my own lone plea.
And I followed the little girl’s lead. Daddy was all I prayed, a cry bouncing off the high walls of my heart. A child, eager to be in His embrace. A daughter, desperate for His grace. And skipping up to the table He’s prepared for me.
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