Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Today, the Preacher worked all day, which meant Princess and Little Man were in my solo care. All. Day. Long.
(Did I say, "Long"?
Because I meant to say, "Loooonnnggg.")
If one thing in life is sure, it's this: The hours and minutes and seconds of days don't shift for anyone. And what can one mom do about it anyway - the days when time stretches and sticks right in the middle? I mean, I've heard about Carpe Diem, and the power of a treasured day. And I've practiced gratitude, too, focusing minutes into moments by the thousands. But sometimes the present blocks the big picture, maybe just a little.
When I was a tiny girl, my dad walked me to the bus stop every day with this: "Stop watching your feet, Becki; pick your head up, and look around." Walking now with Little Man, I keep the same cadence: "Pay attention to where you're going, son. Take your eyes off your shoes."
Sometimes, it's the long view we need.
When Princess was born, we had her dedicated by a man of God, whose life was spent in sacrifice. When he blessed her, he charged us (just the Preacher and me), snapping the slow spell of an infant with this:
"Remember, God didn't give you children to keep; this baby wasn't born to be a girl. She was born to be a woman."
A woman, like me. (Like me?) And my son, born to be a man, like his father.
Today, I had hours with the future staring me square in the face. The future, dripping milk onto couches. The future, learning to read at my table. . . and searching my eyes for approval.
It's holy gift, and frightening influence.
In the end, the long view isn't about wanting the kidlets to grow up too soon, or overlooking their innate value. They're a treasure now, and always will be. Still, here we're raising a boy and a girl, not to be who we want or to stay children forever --
but to be who they were born to be.
And that makes all the difference, really.
Breaking out the binoculars,