Feathered and Perched

I cannot believe the time that has passed between this post and the last.  It feels like a week max, but there it is, date stamped obviously at the top.  And three weeks later...

Our anniversary was lovely.  Thank you for your emails, your facebook comments, your texts.  I have been moved by your own stories, rallies, and heartache.  We hold to the hope of newness in each day and the ability to be who we want to be. 

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tunes without the words and never stops at all

Emily Dickinson

The simple took us by the hand August 9 and spun us around on the dance floor a few times: a picnic breakfast quilt-side at a park, littles chasing ducks and childhood, a three hour family nap in the afternoon, a walk together in the evening.  Jon and I celebrated with a sushi-date-night-in (thanks for the idea, Sara!) after kiddos were tucked under blankets to dream.  And true to this season of life, our date night was interrupted by a little boy cutting molars, but we didn't mind.  We are more than us now.  And we celebrate that, too.

The last three weeks have been full.  Jon spent ten days surrounded by tennis and one of his truest friends.  I fiercely value this annual week+ away for him - we realized early on in our marriage that we could not be all things to each other.  We need get-aways with friends - they make us better people, a better husband/father, a better wife/mother.  I'll never be one of the guys and goodness knows Jon'll never be my girlfriend. 

I filled our days back at home with walks and projects and family.  And it was good.  But after ten days of sleeping on his side of the bed wearing his stranded t-shirts, it was so good to have Jon home.  And we celebrated in the way we've done best this year: unexpectedly.  Eden fell off a chair after dinner and broke her clavicle.  Sha-blam.  Welcome home, honey.

It's September.  I'm 35 1/2 weeks pregnant tonight.  And I'm feeling the coexistence coming to an end.  Baby girl has far less room to move and stretch and I grow more uncomfortable, making multiple trips to the bathroom throughout the day and night.  I want to live in the yoga pants I've had since pregnant with Eden, worn with each of my littles, broken in now and perfectly comfy.  Listing and nesting has kicked into high gear...energy levels, however, have ebbed.  But this last weekend we escaped as a family of four-almost-five to celebrate what we've been and what we will become. 

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious.  There's still little blankets and onesies and socks to wash, beds to sort and put together, car seats to clean and rearrange in our car.  I worry about laboring early with too many items unchecked on my to-do lists.  And I worry that I won't have what it takes once Baby Love gets here to be the mom I want to be for my kids.  That I will be efficient but cold, hard-working but undelighted.  I worry about becoming lost in the demands of motherhood. 

But hope is the thing with feathers.  And it perches in the soul.

We are merely moving shadows,
and all our busy rushing ends in nothing...

And so, Lord, where do I put my hope?
My only hope is in you.

Psalm 39.6,7

Hope in a God who is strong and able.  Hope in the parenting He provides...and in the healing He gives when we fail.  Hope in the power of choice and new tomorrows. 

I pray hope floods your soul today, humming the tune without the words and never stops at all.