Tuesday, May 21, 2013

I Miss Your Skin

So the Ainsley love is on my mind so much these days. Tomorrow she graduates from preschool. Precious lamb that she is. And before I say anything about how dumb I used to think graduations from anything before high school were or the fact that she's going back to repeat the same program next year at the very same school -- I will say this: It all makes my heart full of sweet sentiment for her and her darling little life. And as much as I know that my identity expands beyond the role of mother in many different ways I do know that this role, this job is without question the most important work I will ever do and this little girl is my last baby.

When Ainsley was about three she used to tell me when I wasn't near to her that she missed my skin. When I carried her she'd stroke my arm and say, "I love your skin." Even this morning after she crawled into bed with us she drew nearer and nearer to me saying that she just wanted to touch me on the skin. I may not have found this to be wildly endearing at 4:17am, but I do get it. I do get just wanting to touch the one who loves your very soul. To just reach out and feel the familiar warmth and security of the one who is ever for you, is with you, is in love with you.

And as much as she loves my skin I want to love being in it. To be comfortable in my own skin. As I head closer to the second half of my forties I'm ready to just be there. To feel at ease with me and Whose I am. Some days I'm more there than others. But I do know this--that to get there -- to that place of comfort with myself I need to reach out and touch the One who knows me. Who loves me, is for me, is in love with me. I need a savior. And there's absolutely nothing like knowing that He is for me! With me!

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Before There Was Google, There Was Mom

On Mother's Day I'm ever thinking of my own mom and wishing she was near to me.

I can remember countless times that I would call on her for all manner of wisdom. In the way that people now Google for their answer I would turn and ask my mom (who always seemed to be right there):
  • Where is Antarctica?
  • How many cups are in a gallon?
  • How long will it take us to drive to St. Louis?
And with precise search engine optimization she would answer me correctly. When I left home the process changed ,but only slightly. I would dial up the phone number I'd memorized when I was in Kindergarten---seven digits with so many sevens all together. Nearly every time my mom would share that number with someone they would say: "That would be a great hand in poker." As a child, I had no idea what that meant but I liked knowing that the number was special. I already knew that since it was my pathway home. To that voice on the other end of the line who would say every single time she'd hear my voice, "Hi baby." For I was, and still am, the baby in the family of three kids. Soon thereafter I'd hear the answers to so many of my questions:
  • How do I you cook a roast?
  • Can I use a glass dish instead of a bundt pan for this cake?
  • How much milk do I put in to scramble eggs?
She'd answer me readily and encourage me that I couldn't go too wrong. To just give it a try and tell her how it worked out. I would do both. Give it a try and later tell her how it worked. Our relationship wasn't perfect as I'm reasonably sure none involving two humans ever is - but it was ours. It was close and comfortable, tried and true. She was proud of me. Liked who I'd become. Wanted to be near to me and was crazy about my kids.