Today is June 1st.
My littles officially “moved in” with their Dad for his summer parenting time.
I will still see them.
Almost everyday, in fact.
And for that I’m beyond thankful.
But knowing it will be the end of the month before I can read and rub and tuck.
Well, that’s a harder grace.
So tonight I’m downstairs. And I’m watching the clock because omorrow, I have to be up early.
Tomorrow, we start a new kids’ sports clinic.
Tomorrow, we have ballgames.
Tomorrow, I work a full day, like everyday.
But I’m downstairs. And I’m awake.
It’s hard to cry yourself to sleep. I know babies do it, but I start shaking and my nose gets stuffy and come to think of it, I don’t know how babies do it.
And, well, mine never did. Babywise, my a$$. 🙂
Anyway.
I’m following up on homework from Sunday School. Romans.
We learn that Jesus died “at the right time.”
So.
God can be trusted with time.
Time apart and time together.
If Jesus died at the right time, then my Mammaw, just short of 100 died at the right time.
And Coulter, more than 24 hours after my water broke, finally pushed free and was born.
At the right time.
And my marriage. Like an earthquake rumbling underneath that no-one’s aware of until the ground starts to shake and the earth splits into—
Died.
At just.
The right time.
Last fall the kids and I went to Arkansas for Thanksgiving and something happened to my heart that week and I remember feeling on the drive home. Feeling and thinking out loud.
I’m not mad anymore.
I still get mad. Yes.
But I’m not angry-scary-mad.
My mom shared recently from Ezekiel, Lord give me a heart of flesh and take away my heart of stone.
Lord melt my heart. Soften my heart. Break my heart.
For what breaks yours.
Lord, I know.
There is grace. For today.
June 1st.
I’m thankful that my children know that they are loved. By me.
By their father.
I’m thankful that my marriage died.
At the right time.
I’m thankful that their dad and I work together, that our children see us as friends and while it has been a bumpy, dirt road, that we work hard to put our children’s needs above our own.
I’m thankful for a flexible job, a small town and the opportunity to taxi them around as they “do” summer.
I’m thankful that Mike was sent to me and my children.
At, holy moly.
Just.
The right time.
Ok, so.
Our backyard is a jungle. Wild and, well, just wild.
I’m fascinated by all the things growing, some over-grown, some growing in the middle of what would otherwise be a a yard. Some growing underneath the trampoline where usually things die, some growing behind the make-shift fence my husband “built” and with love, I use that word loosely and for days now I’ve been watching what I think are day lilies.
Just these long, slender green leaves and they are plentiful and lovely and yet day after day I can’t find any blooms.
Until today.
I was playing catch with Coulter on the trampoline. Playing catch with C is much more complicated than one can imagine. I have to stand in just the right spot and I have to throw it where he can catch it, but that he has to dive for it. I throw it over the net. If he catches it, it’s an “out”. If he drops it, there’s a runner on first. If I toss it all the way over the net, it’s a home-run and if I miss the net, it’s a foul ball.
We spent more than 12 hours at the ball field this weekend and so it’s not surpassing that baseball has taken over even our trampoline time.
But somehow between all the rules and instructions and the throwing and the fouling, I spot it. I tiptoed over the dirt/sand/topsoil mixture that has the tiniest of grass leaves sprouting up and yes, I see it.
A bud.
I said to Coulter, Ahhhh! A Bud!! I tell him, his dad I had day lilies when we lived in Minnesota.
I like to remind him of happy times. Because there were happy times.
For some reason I’m finding comfort in those one-day lilies.
Grace for, daily bread for, worries for—-
Just today. The life of a lily.
So each night when the bloom closes, I’m gonna give thanks that I’m one day closer to bedtime wishes and nighttime kisses.
And I’m gonna give thanks that the God of the universe who created time and holds the time, is also holding my children.
They may be out of my reach tonight, but they are never out of His.
Raising Magnolias 