Raising Magnolias

Waiting for Spring

I was in a room. With men.

A lot of men.

I knew only one of them.

Paul, my dear friend from college.

The other men I didn’t know.

They were huge and all  tatooed-up and I was walking up to these men and asking for  hugs.

Ack! I know, right?

All strangers except for Paul and I know that if I called Paul tomorrow he would fly to Nebraska to give this girl a hug.

I woke up in a cold sweat. So ever grateful that this had a been a dream. And slightly worried that I had just, at 40, had a hot flash. I said, out loud—

“Thank you Lord Jesus, that that did not just happen.”

But I kinda do need a hug.

As  moms, we hug and hold; we carry the load. On our hips; on our legs; on our backs. My children, like their momma, have the love language of touch. Which is just a fancy way of saying we like to be hugged. Coulter slept on my chest until he was so heavy that it became hard for me to breathe.  He still turns my hair as he’s falling asleep, which is why I’m feeling super conflicted about cutting it off.

And I did cut.

It.

Off.

Emma Claire also speaks the language of touch. Each night her hand finds the back of my arms and she  lays her head, rubbing softly, until she’s asleep. 

Touch.

We were created for it.

And then last night.

Another dream. And I was in a room and people were, again,  hugging me.

I woke up with 4 year-old legs and 8 year-old arms and blankets and alligators and puppies and a lady- bug pillow; somehow all intertwined and my stomach had that churning, turning, “I’m performing in front of thousands of people tonight and haven’t learned my music” kind of feeling. And I wanted to tell the kids it was a snow day and just let us all go back to bed.

I’m unsettled and I don’t know why. And then someone posted a link on youtube about eating your frog first thing in the morning and I’m trying to figure out what my frog is and grab onto the idea of eating it.

First.

Maybe if I eat my frog, my icky tummy feeling will go away.

And maybe I will stop having hugging dreams.

And hot flashes.

And I think it was some sort of motivational type link, but all I can do is feel sorry for myself that my Frog—

Was.

Well.

Just a frog.

I leave the frog behind. Today was music with the “old people” day and usually I’m inspired but it was depressing and despairing and I looked at these bodies, soft and weary and ready; souls who think they are leaving “just as soon as the snow clears”; minds cluttered, yet hopeful—

That.

Tomorrow will be better.

When maybe it won’t.

Maybe tomorrow won’t be better.

Spring hasn’t come. Is it coming, Lord?  Emotionally, spiritually, physically and for sure literally, did you forget about us? Do You really keep your promises? I believe Lord.

Help my unbelief.

Hearts are breaking. Piece by piece by piece and we are but scattered from dust to dust and there are those who are questioning God’s goodness and His providence and His promises. If God is the giver of all good things then why do fathers of babies get called home leaving behind widows to mourn and to mother, and why do these old bodies, babies all grown; bodies broken and suffering sit and wait for the call and Why, Lord?

And why do I keep ending up in a room full of strangers? Wanting. Needing.

A hug.

I know where the room is.

And I know where I am.

It came to me as Emma Claire and I were singing “How Great Thou Art” with Lottie.

Lottie who’s a cranky old thing, with eyes that sparkle and oh! To have known Lottie when she was young.

And why, Lord?

Why do husbands say “I will” when they won’t and they don’t?

One day, I’ll tell you where I am.

I’ll tell you about this room.

Full of men.

But for today,  my heart  feels the questions and I have no answers.

When is spring coming?

I need to feel the sunshine blaze warm on my face.

The  promise of new life and never-ending grace.

I need to feel Your arms, wrap-hold-strong. Steady me, God and don’t be long.

I need to wait. And so I do.

I wait. On his promise. For new strength. Strength to run and not get tired.

I wait. On his promise. To redeem and restore.

I wait.

For Spring.

I know that it comes.

But.

In the meantime.

In the waiting.

If, you know, you just happen to see me walking by.

You can go ahead and assume that I’d really like a hug. 🙂