Friday, November 20, 2015


It’s been a dream to be able to care for my new little bit, Charlotte, in her early months in this world.  Just the acts themselves of caring for her have been joy, even when they have been pain--I don’t know how that’s possible, by the way.  I remember being annoyed by first parenthood, and this second time around I am only sensing the littlest bit of that.

What occurred to me the other day as I looked out our beautiful picture windows overlooking the yard and trees beyond was that I have been able to watch the seasons change.  Not just sort of acknowledge them, but actually watch the transition proceed slowly.  I remembered feeling that way during the trials of my miscarriages, in Spring one time, Fall/Winter the next.  Something about seeing the perceptible change seemed momentous, symbolic even, to just me, as if God were putting on a show for one (when I know they’re happening for us all). As if this symbol were nudging me to change from within, to both release and accept.

This unfolding mirrors my own, unfolding from years now of worry and obsession over all that goes wrong or seems off.  From thinking all will go wrong.  I am serious when I say that became muscle memory for me, and only now that I have stopped long enough to see this and work through this can I see how deep-seated it was, my lack of trust.  My feeding fear. Instead now I am feeding a baby.  While this does come with some hang ups (is she getting enough to eat?  Percentile weight.  Blah blah...) these are not enough to dissuade this new part of my psyche to enjoy this warm small bundle of a baby, this little piece of myself, and share this absolutely velvet feeling with others.

The seasons changing outside my window seem to mirror something from within: slow and steady, the leaves in my life which were nurtured in good and bad times now change color, become loosened, give themselves up to the ground we walk on, to the space created by God, the same God who created me.  Branches bare themselves, the sky becomes more apparent. Winds blow and nudge a last letting go, and tickle the chimes.

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