Skip to main content

Tell Me About Your Kids Sometime

A few days ago, I went to a movie with an acquaintance and afterward, we decided mutually that we should get to know each other better, which, considering my lack of an active social circle, can't possibly be a bad thing. (Shut up, anxiety. I'm trying to knock those walls down.)
We were exchanging questions and he said, "You'll have to tell me about [your son] sometime." A few moments later he added, "...and your girls. They clearly have your heart."

That first sentence, blinking bright against the black on my iPhone struck me so profoundly. It's a simple request. "Tell me about your son." The innocuous reason he asked that question was simply because he knows that my son is important to me and wants to know more about the people I care about. However, when I read it, it struck me how I would seriously answer what my children truly mean to me and how I would honestly describe them. Not in the funny things they do, or the sweet things they say, but in the intimate way that they changed my life and remain always a part of me, no matter where they are or what they are doing.

So let me tell you about my son.
My son was the trickle of sunshine into a cold, dark hopeless place.
My son is proof of the boundless limits of God's overwhelming grace.
My son saved my life then, and fulfills it now.
My son is my teacher, my dearest love, and my most bittersweet remembrance.
My son was the rainbow after the storm and the healing after the wound.
My son helped me realize how strong I could be, and how weak.
My son humbled me and gave my life meaning and purpose when I was being told that my life was purposeless and meaningless.
My son is contemplation, curved smiles and furrowed brows.
He is the greatest treasure of my heart.

My oldest daughter is kindness personified.
She is care and compassion.
She is brave and takes on much more than any 6 year old should.
She wants to make everyone smile.
She is a bright, constant star in a tumultuous sky.
She is the calming of the ocean and the gentle breeze in a summer swelter.
She is a nurturer and a truth teller.
She is beautiful.
Her first breath was my first true joy.
She was and remains my favorite birthday present.

My middle daughter is a firecracker in the dead of winter.
She is joy and vivacity in a flash of motion.
She is the wild rush of a stream and the crack of thunder in the sky
She is strong willed and head strong.
She is sweet as honey and tough as nails
She is persistence and freedom and mischievousness
She is that which comes around after the go around I gave my parents growing up
She is my tester, my teaser, and her own girl in every way
Her laughter could melt ice and her will could bend water.
She is the spark of life that endears and endures.

When I look at them, think of them, hear them; when I smell their wet puppy hair, or feel their whole bodied hugs; when they laugh, run, play, snuggle, chirp at each other; when they call out for me or each other and run full speed toward the safety of each other's arms, and of my arms - it is then that I am whole, then that I am overcome with what love truly is.

Let me tell you about my kids.

They are everything.

They are proof that God exists.




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Doing the Dishes

“Wash the plate not because it is dirty nor because you are told to wash it, but because you love the person who will use it next.” - Saint Teresa of Calcutta Every night after dinner, Niles does the dishes. Mostly, he stacks them in the dishwasher and runs it, but often he also hand washes the pots and pans, setting them in the drying rack and putting them away later when they've air-dried enough. He always clears the table and wipes it down, making sure everything is the way it was (sometimes cleaner than it was) before we sat down to eat.  At the beginning of our relationship, when he’d do this I felt somewhat at a loss. Doing the dishes had always been my responsibility, along with nearly every other household chore, and I wondered what to do with myself while this other person took care of  it. It was one of many mundane tasks that had always been on my already-full plate and freeing that space felt almost like cheating. A little breathing room felt suffocating in the con...

Unanswered Prayers

My fiancĂ© and I regularly get into arguments about Garth Brooks. The country singer with the bass twang was a staple of my childhood and I can’t think of a song he’s done that I didn’t absolutely love. Admittedly, most of my adoration now comes from the nostalgia factor; his music transports me back to wedding dances two-stepping with my uncles, road trips with my parents and older brother arguing about what the lyrics actually were (pre-Google life was like that), and romanticizing his adult wisdom about life and loss.  For Niles, who has no such fond illusions, he feels the quality of music is lacking (I don’t 100% disagree with that on an objective level). However, the real thing that turns his ambivalence into disgust is the song “Unanswered Prayers”. As an adult, I can appreciate that the story and lyrics are a little trite and simplistic. But the notion that God just lets our prayers sit unanswered because we don’t know enough to pray for the right things is the real matter o...

Someday My Prince Will Come

How cliched, I know. When I was young, I was not fussy about relationships. I was low maintenance if there ever was such a thing, in part because of my fierce independent (read: stubborn) streak and a complete aversion to frivolity. I was never the girl who got highlights in her hair and spent hours on clothes and makeup each morning. I shopped at thrift stores and went to school with my hair wet 50% of the time. My requirements for "boyfriend" material were that they hold my hand sometimes and be smart enough to talk to for hours on end. I didn't seek out the best looking, I didn't expect gifts or showering, I understood not being top priority and I didn't need someone to  emotionally support me. I was a tough chick who could take care of herself, thank you very much. It should come as no surprise then, that I married a man who allowed me to take care of everything in our lives. My teenage self would have loved that, being responsible for the house, the bills,...