Sunday, March 20, 2011

learning to cast.

There I was, standing in the kitchen, folding a mountain of laundry, needing to move onto the dishes before friends arrive.  (Friends who have seen our mountains more than once, and still love us, but you know...)  
I glance outside.  And spot this.  That pudgy little hand that holds onto mine for morning errands.  He who is happy to tag along with me, working through my to-do's.  
I tune into their imagining what sort of creatures are beyond that screened porch, listening to the jabber of 2 boys 4 years apart, but made from the same stuff.  
I go out to snap a picture, because the memory must not forget this.  It is too precious.
 How did I not anticipate what words would follow...
"Would you come out and sit with us?" (Insert eager grin and wishing eyes)
"Um...Er...SIT?  Well, I have lots to do...laundry...dishes..."
Mama is in the zone!  Their faces unveil that they have heard this before..."maybe later," which really means "if there's time after I do everything I need to do." 
I catch myself and see the moment as a gift.  I can't stand to let it sit any longer, it must be full-force-torn-into and enjoyed.  The rest can wait.  The laundry isn't the one going anywhere.  The dishes aren't the ones growing up.
I sit.  We swing.  I hear all sorts of dinosaur tales.  Am asked a bazillion questions about creatures I have never heard of, but apparently existed.  For real.
We laugh, look into each other's eyes and smile.  I am so thankful for this moment.  Their heads that rest on my shoulders tell me they are too.  
(By the way, it is strange to see the back of my head.  I would have never found me if I was looking for myself in a crowd of head-backs.)

This is Thursday.  We stay outside nearly all day, basking in the new-ness of spring, letting the freshness fill our lungs.  (Besides the moment where I nearly caught the corn field on fire when I had an oops burning the paper, but anywho...)  

(Basil rising with a great big victorious YAWP!)

(Before you are jealous, let me tell you that the muffler has fallen off, and you can hear him coming from miles.  Really, the top down is just so he doesn't doze off from fumes :)
Friday comes and I am high on life.  Andy and Jack are working on the house, Jude is napping, and I am digging into gardening books.

A phone call brings me back to reality.  Our oldest at school is hurting.  Not the kind that is easily dealt with, that can be covered over with a band-aid.  One that stems from a diagnosis and the struggle, at times, to order his world.  I recall the past week, and how often he has asked me to play with him.  The times I have, he pours out his day, right there in one sitting, tells me all sorts of his perceptions.  And I patted my back for saying yes, and sitting.  When in actuality, I can be there...But not be present.  I have not been unwrapping the gift of his mind like I should.  Like he needs me to.  

I pick him up from school.  I ask him what happened.  Tears appear in his eyes, and his lip quivers.  We talk it through.  Again, that bottom lip starts to tremble, but everything in him wants to be brave.  It pains me to see the struggle.

But how thankful I am to have a weekend with this little man all to myself. 
To tear into the present.  And we did.

This salty, sweet, spicy slice of deliciousness is borrowed from the brilliance of a friend. (Thanks Brooke!)  It is pizza topped with chorizo, jalapenos, mango, and cilantro.  There are mushrooms and green peppers on this too.  I never would have combined all these flavors, but it is uh-mazing!

We're not sure where to go from here.  There is talk of meeting with a behavioral team.  There is comfort knowing how much others care.  He is so lovable.  There is a reason our memory verse this week has been:
Cast all your worries on the Lord, because He cares for you. 
1 Peter 5.7

Reminding me, continually, of His care.  For us.  For me.  For Miles.  After I got the call Friday, I pulled out a pen and paper, wrote down the whole big whopping list, and casted.  
Because. He. Cares. For. You.    

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