White Marble

Two boys stand at a fresh gravestone. Hands in pockets and no coats on a chilly morning. 

Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking to each other, oblivious to my presence and the passing cars.

Their shirts are loose around their boyish shoulders, their wavy brown hair is the same shade as each other’s, same shade as their father’s.

I want to take them home and feed them. Give them clean sheets around a warm bed and tell them they’re not alone. I can only hope they have a mother who will.

A snapshot

Coy glances from little eyes while he finds trouble to get in and out of. 

Good morning and Goodnight and I love you - three phrases repeated so often they almost lose their meaning. Almost. 

A strong hand, open, and reaching out to hold mine. 

A tiny hand with little fingers, patting my arm while I nurse his little sister.

Heaven growing sweeter with each addition - how could I have thought I would get bored with eternity? I could spend forever just sitting in communion with these people, with my Savior. 

Oh yeah! Aw, man. Okay. He go (here you go). Dees dees (please). Uh you (love you). And all of his little words and phrases.

Redundantly, a thousand more “I love you’s” - over and over and over so they never doubt that I do. 

Dry Grass

 

I knew this girl who loved a boy. They were so in love; they were going to get engaged (he told me).

But when he was away, she spent all her time with someone else. Another guy. Our group of friends started talking about how she must be cheating on her boyfriend. One girl remarked (astutely I think) that if she was not cheating on her boyfriend physically, she certainly was emotionally – in her mind. My heart went out to her, she was my friend after all. I knew she wasn’t that sort of girl, and to have sparked so much controversy and slander must’ve been an unintended mistake.

So I went to her. 

One sunny afternoon by the lake, I caught her out reading and took a seat beside her in the dry grass. I stilled my racing heart (confrontation, though a trademark of my personality, often makes me physically sick) and began as disarmingly as possible. I softly explained what people were saying and told her I knew she meant no harm. I told her I would want someone to come to me, so I knew she would want the same. Then, after a brief hesitation, I gently added that sometimes perception is reality and for all our friends… she was not painting a good picture.

She didn’t say much, but I felt better having told her.

I felt loyal.

Later that day, the boy she had been spending so much time with came to me. Instantly, I was reminded that he was not a boy. The girls all talked about how much he worked out, what a hunk he was. But when I observed his body that day it was not to admire how attractive it was, it was not to appreciate the structure of his muscles and sinews, but rather to fear the bulk of him.

I had just entered a dimly lit foyer when he approached me, no one was around. He backed me into a literal corner. I tried to step out of his way, but he just turned on me instead of passing. He told me I had no business partaking in gossip and telling her to stay away from him. He told me they were doing nothing wrong in the eyes of God or man. His red face quoted scripture to me – all I saw were the veins pulsing on his neck.  

The condescending tone in his voice accompanied a veiled rage and I am ashamed to say I felt weak. Literally, physically, weak in the knees and sweaty in my palms. I told him okay. I probably said okay five or six times. At every pause in the conversation, just “okay, okay, okay.”

You know how when you’re working the cash register at a shady gas station, they tell you the money in the drawer isn’t worth your life, and to always just do whatever the man with the gun tells you to do? Just be agreeable and get out alive?

Finally, he said his fill and stalked away, vindicated. It was the first time I had ever felt… Assaulted is the wrong word because of the weight it carries. But my mind comes up empty when I try to name this small, weak, helpless feeling.  All I can do is hope my sisters and my daughters never feel it.

 

At First

Love at first sight is a notion that the foolish espouse, the bitter scorn, and the wise cast off. To fall madly into love, or more often into passion, with another person is often a paper fire. It burns brightly and then burns out, leaving barely an ember of remembrance.

After all, I did not understand the true depths of love even when I stood at the alter and pledged my life to my husband-to-be. If I had seen ahead to our heartache, joy, anger, and the unfathomable contentment we would find in just the next five years, the weight of it would have swallowed me whole. But taken one day, one step at a time, we have plunged into a truer friendship and closeness than we could’ve known back when we stood in front of that arbor, making promises we would only understand in time. 

But I think there is an exception to that flippant, tired saying of - love at first sight. 

Because when they placed you in my arms for the first time, after praying for you for years, I heard your cry, looked down, and I loved you. I loved you more than life, I loved you with my soul. With your father by my side, our love was compounded and multiplied, made stronger and deeper and closer than before when we grew from two to three.

I didn’t need a second look, I loved you at first sight. You kindled a fire that will never go out - I’ll never doubt this, and you’ll never be alone as long as I draw breath on this earth we call a home. 

Voices in the Storm

You said it must not be that bad since he works all the time anyway.

He does work a lot, he's a good provider.

You said you wished you were in my position, that the time I spend with my family is a rare gift.

It is a gift. And I am thankful - truly. I love my family and the days are joyful and spent in good company. Many are alone and facing much worse than I am - I see this. I pray for these people, it's all I can do.

You said there isn't a good reason for the separation in the first place, that the world is overreacting.

I can't even listen to this fully, I can't dwell on the betrayal it makes me feel.

Because you see, yesterday our son recognized my voice for the first time. His face lit up when I spoke to him - just the latest in the endless string of new developments. He coos, trying to speak to me. And it was such a wonderful moment, such a big milestone, but all I could think was that he won't recognize his father's voice by the time we're back together.

He's so little, once we're back together he'll relearn his father's voice and face quickly. They have years of bonding ahead of them. But please, don't tell me we're not losing something in all of this. Because we are. And it's okay to recognize that.

Because we love each other and our son. And sometimes love requires difficult decisions. Christ is our ultimate example of love and sacrifice. I’m so grateful for a Savior who knows and understands, no matter the hurt.

Hebrews 4
14 Seeing then that we have a great high priest, that is passed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our profession.
15 For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin.
16 Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in the time of need.

Rhythms

How long have you been crying? A minute? Ten? I check my phone - it's two in the morning. 

Slipping out from beneath our comforter and its warmth, I head to the nursery. It's been three weeks since we came home from the hospital, but the routine is already set. After a diaper change, I re-swaddle you, go to the rocker, and we start a round of midnight feeding. You're frantic at first - all smacking and rooting and fists - but you settle into contented sucking after a moment. 

And looking down at your face in the faint glow of the nightlight, I could cry you're so beautiful. I can hardly believe God gave you to us.

You nurse until you're so drowsy you don't even wake up while you're burped. Then you're back in your crib, and I steal out of your room. It's been an hour but it doesn't feel it. Time is already flying.

I slip back beneath the comforter beside the warmth of your father, and just like almost every night, he wakes up a little. Light sleeping is the paramedic's curse I suppose. 

Then comes the moment that has become the last part of my routine. Though I sleep on my side with my back to him, he reaches over and runs a hand over the brown hair I gave you. 

"You're doing a great job," he whispers. "I love you, babe."

Then he rolls over and is fast asleep once again. 

And you know, it's strange. There's a lot to miss - now that three more weeks have passed and the world is upside down. I miss the way he keeps me laughing, the comfort of our everyday conversations, the warmth of his hand in mine. But right now, more than anything else, I miss that moment. Now that I creep back under a cold comforter with only an empty space beside me, I miss his midnight whispers and his fingers in my hair.

Your daddy and I didn't know how much we could love before you came along. How much we could love each other, how much we could love you.  In a world filled with craziness, our love for you is uncomplicated. 

So we'll stay apart as long as we need to. 

But from my cold bed to his - I love you, babe. You're doing a great job.

Blinders

Internet stalking is a strange part of modern life. High School reunions are no longer mysterious, ex’s can be tangibly and visibly obsessed over, and we can find connection with people who walked out of our lives years ago.

I haven’t thought about you for a long while. But a patient in the emergency room forced me to remember somehow and I thought back to our evening car rides, long conversations, and the copious amounts of ice cream we consumed together.

My instinct was to look you up – I had my phone in my hand in a second. There are so many ways to find people these days, I knew it wouldn’t take long. I thought, that pang of remembrance and sudden sorrow at a lost past will be soothed if I can just see how you’re doing. 

But then I realized, it wouldn’t make me feel better. I know without confirmation that things didn’t get better for you. All the ways I thought maybe I could help, the things I said, never broke through your surface. You chose your path and it’s been destroying you, little by little.

And I can’t bear to watch you burn.