For time away.
All for the sake of a Boy.
Who needs fun like air.
Water drops hanging liquid orbs off those endless lashes.
Him smiling all gums and teeth everywhere.
This is what twelve looks like.
For focused time on the two youngest.
Hanging off my arm and...
"Thank you for this, Mom. Thank you, forever."
Coming home again.
Knowing every country bump on our lane as we arrive in the dark hours of morning.
For that feeling of home.
The way the laundry looks familiar lumped in soft piles on the floor of the mudroom.
A soldier making pita bread in my kitchen.
His hands full of dough, and us talking and laughing.
Just that I got to watch my three oldest worship God together.
Her voice singing Jesus.
The SilentDeep on bass, and the Kind and Compassionate on the drums.
The rhythm he keeps, a steady cry to be noticed, singled out, loved.
Me just overcome with the honor of knowing them.
Bowing low at the throne to confess, again, all my inadequacies.
The StrongSoft getting her baby lambs, and sharing the adventure with dear friends.
The two of us sitting in the darkened loam of the shed at six this morning.
Bottle feeding and talking, and her kissing them on the head.
Blonde beauty dressed in her dad's carhart jacket and sitting on a five gallon bucket in her pajamas.
And the spring snow that flies these thick flakes of white wonder.
The sky close enough to touch.
Staying up most of the night to finish a good book.
Missing my son gone back for school.
Holding him tight and close in my prayers.
All this eucharisteo.
And for writing.
Because it holds the world still long enough.