1. Sometimes even the best stain removers will not suffice.
2. Tiptoe as quietly as you may, I will still feel your presence leave the room.
3. There is no time for rushing
4. Eye contact, please.
5. Human beings are not complicated creatures. We all just want comfort, nourishment and someone who will take care of us.
6. Slow down.
7. Naps are a form of worship.
8. The sun is bright. Very, very bright.
9. Will you be my friend today?
10. 30 minutes of outside time and then I'll start to scream.
11. I will accept the carrier from dad. Only from dad.
12. When in doubt, hand me to Wawa.
13. You will likely regret clothing me in this cute outfit.
14. You spilled some of your fried rice on my head. Rude.
15. I like the swaddle game. Let’s see how fast I can get out. Call me Houdini.
16. There are few things as spectacular as the contrast of a black fan against a white ceiling.
17. Your to-do list for the day is irrelevant.
18. Stay in this moment with me. Do not stare at that small black box you seem to be so enamored by. Just be present.
19. Consider 5-9pm black holes of time.
20. Few things are as perplexing as seeing your own image in the mirror.
21. This too shall pass.
22. Keep your world small.
23. That can wait. Please pay attention to me. Now.
24. Don’t be lonely. Let me be your company. Let me be your friend.
25. Don’t consider all the things you could be doing right now. You are here and exactly where you need to be.
26. Try to give me a bottle and watch me laugh in your face.
27. Pacifiers are for losers.
28. Don’t fear the changes time brings. Don’t be afraid of me growing up. Just enjoy it all.
29. There is beauty in a sink stacked high with dishes.
30. Our little home is our kingdom. Make it beautiful.
31. Let’s just cry together.
32. Please correct them when they call me a little boy.
33. I am grateful for you, even though I can’t articulate it.
34. Let’s have an all-nighter together tonight. Fun!
35. Can I sleep in the big bed tonight?
36. I think I have restless-leg syndrome.
37. Routine is not boring.
38. It may take you an hour to fold this pile of clothes.
39. I see you are trying to deceive me with this swing.
40. Do not think too far into the future. Just show up each new morning.
41. Get used to canceling plans. Be comfortable with saying no.
42. Think of all the kindle books you can read during 4am feedings!
43. Learn to do most things with one hand.
44. If I had a penny for the amount of times people say I look like dad I'd be filthy rich.
45. Don’t read what google has to say about this. Google is no substitute for a mother’s instinct.
46. Your value does not hinge upon the sum of what you can get done in a day.
47. Lukewarm coffee is just fine. Please stop complaining.
48. Count all the little gifts that fill today.
49. Don’t take yourself too seriously. You will make many, many mistakes as you raise me. Learn to laugh.
50. Consider this hidden, sacrificial life the most heroic and extraordinary one.
Many of the people I have talked to in my first year of farming have lamented to me about the trouble of eating organically, “It’s just too expensive.” … “Only rich people can really afford to eat organically.” … “That’s just not in our budget right now.” Ironically, I find that the people saying this are the same people who eat out twice a week, thoroughly enjoy their Netflix subscription, spend 5 dollars on their daily Starbucks latte, sit in front of their flat-screen every night, and drive a car they can’t afford. To a certain extent, we cannot escape the living contradictions that we are and I admit that it is difficult to be fully aware of all of our blind-spots. But more often than not, it isn’t a problem of being able to afford good food but rather an issue of what we value.
So why should we care about the tomato on our plate? Why should we wonder where it was grown and how? Why should we care where we do our grocery shopping or consider the people behind the food we consume? Why does the current state of Agriculture matter to the average business man working his high-rise desk job-- not just the farmer?
Wendell Berry said it pointedly, “Eating is an agricultural act.” When we sit down for dinner and partake of the food before us, we are participating in a system. A seed had to be sown months previous, patiently nurtured, watered, given what it needs to thrive in order to produce its fruit and feed the consumer. This plant came from somewhere and was grown in someway by someone. We, by purchasing the item and consuming it, are active participants in the system. When we choose not to value good, sustainably-grown food we are also feeding a system in which food is continually undervalued, crops worth less, farmers underpaid and therefore forced to submit to the Industrial demands of unrealistic yields of unblemished produce possible only through the use of heavy machinery and chemicals.
Needing to eat is one of the most basic and foundational aspects of what it means to be human. God created us to be dependent, finite creatures with stomachs that regularly grow hungry and bodies that need to be nourished to have energy to function well. Food is universal. There is not a person living on this planet that does not depend on it for their survival. So why has good food, which is essential, suddenly become something pushed to the sidelines, under-valued, sacrificed in order to make room for the extraneous in our family budget?
I could go many different routes with this argument. I could try to convince you of the nutritional benefits of eating lettuce grown organically in your local community over lettuce grown in a sterile tube in a fluorescent lit factory in a location thousands of miles away. I could tell you of the deep reward of joy that comes from being able to know the very soil that your spinach was grown in and the ways in which is was nurtured and cared for in order to bring it to your table. I could tell you of the wonder that comes in being an active participant in a healthy system that works towards the flourishing of all players involved and watching a world that was brilliantly designed to function with all parts benefiting.
For now I just want you to consider that there are people behind the food that you consume. Eating has unfortunately become such a passive act that we have forgotten to stop and contemplate what it takes to bring a tomato to our plate. We have forgotten that nature does not work in our time-table and prefers a much slower pace requiring patience— forcing us into times of abundance and times of waiting, times to feast and times for thrift...that she works in seasons and does not produce tomatoes in the middle of December. We have forgotten to consider the labor behind the food we enjoy. We have isolated the food from the farmer and have ignored the reality that what we consume affects those who laboring for the fruit.
There is so much joy in knowing the faces behind your food. In not just purchasing organic, sustainably grown food for it’s nutritional benefits (although that is terrific!) but because you know that it is helping support someone who isn’t willing to sacrifice quality for quantity, ease and efficiency. A farm that respects the ecosystem in which it functions and all the limitations that entails. A farmer that knows their customer’s names and cares for their well-being not their wallet.
Caring for the people behind your food is a crucial step to becoming more Agriculturally-aware and more conscious of the effect your purchase may have. Get to know your local farmers, ask them why they care, hear their story, ask them how you can play a part and support them (and no-- buying their product is not the only way!) Thank them for their labor and thank them for not compromising by giving in to the demands of modern-day Industrial agriculture. The more we understand and care for the people behind the food we enjoy, the more we’ll have hearts replete with gratitude.
I meet a lot of people who are eager to support their local farms and champion organically grown produce but are unsure of how. The issues in our current Industrial food system are daunting and it can be difficult to know how we can participate in the good, especially if we are unable to be farmers ourselves. I’ll attempt to give you guys some ideas of small (but really, big!) steps you can take to being a part of the change.
Formulate your reason for why you care. Educate yourself on the current state of our food system and decide what you think about it. Become acquainted with some of the issues in your local community in relation to food (food desserts, crop price inflation, market supply-and-demand challenges, malnourishment or poverty, soil and climate conditions, etc). Talk about these issues at the dinner table and educate your children. Ask your local farmer’s about some of the challenges and limitations they encounter. Observe your local environment. This will be your foundation for eating responsibly and caring enough to do something about it.
Visit your local farm when tours are offered. Ask good questions-- not in an interrogative way but in humility with genuine curiosity. Your local farmer is well-acquainted with the challenges and benefits of growing food in your specific area. Try to understand and feel both the hardships and joys that farmers experience on a daily basis. Be students and eager learners. Ask about what makes your local soil unique and do your research.
Enjoy getting to know your farmers at the local Market. Discover what’s in season and enjoy the abundance of different fruits and vegetables available in each unique month. As much as you can, try to eat seasonally. If you are able, join a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) in order to supply your local farmer with the initial investment that they need in order to produce food for their neighbors-- in return, you get to enjoy the abundance of what comes out of the field.
Sacrifice a free Saturday to participate in what it takes to grow your food. Ask the farmer if there is a tedious or mundane task on the farm that you can take off their plate. Spend a couple hours doing a less "romantic” farm chore like pulling weeds. Don’t just enjoy the fruits of their work but be willing to get your hands dirty and get sweaty, too.
Expand your palate. Try new vegetables that you don’t normally fit into your diet. Try a new recipe and exercise your creativity in the kitchen. Cook a homemade meal using local ingredients for your family. See to what extent you can eat seasonally and locally. Savor the freshness and flavor of organic food and help your kids develop a pallet for real, unprocessed food.
Limit waste in your home. Live within your means. Conserve resources when you are able. Think creatively so that you are using your resources responsibly and be thankful for all that you have. Start a small compost pile in your yard. Sacrifice a night of going out to eat in order to purchase grass-fed beef from your local farm. Consider what your family is going to value and make your food decisions from there.
Attempt growing something in your backyard. This may be scary for some of you but just give it a shot! Get over the hump of not having a "green thumb." See the patience, labor and diligence it takes to grow a pumpkin from a seed. You’ll grow in your appreciation for your local farmer and all it takes to feed someone. You may even have a decent harvest to share with your family and your next-door neighbor--it’s so rewarding!
Contractions started early Thursday morning, around 3:00am. I quickly tried to suppress the thought and fall back asleep– maybe this was false labor and if it wasn’t, I should try to get some sleep before the long day ahead. I tried to keep it to myself so that Shane could continue to sleep, too, but I couldn’t hold it in. I woke him up, “Today is the day. Are you ready to meet your baby?” There was a tired look of confusion and lots of “Really?? Are you serious? Are you sure?!” The feeling was unmistakable and after all the Raspberry leaf tea and dates I was consuming since my due date had come and gone, I was sure. After about an hour of lying there and staring at the ceiling (How is one supposed to sleep with this much anticipation running through their veins?!) I finally decided to get up. It was dark and the world was still asleep. It was just me and baby right now, with inconsistent and mild contractions coming and going. These were some of the sweetest moments of my life, as I contemplated the events that were to take place in the next several hours. I wanted to savor this last day with baby inside me, closer than he/she would ever be again. There was a strange bitter-sweetness knowing that this would be my last day feeling the baby kick inside me.
I came out to the living room and finished my chapter of the Lord of the Rings cuddled up under my favorite quilt. During my pregnancy, I had spent many sleepless nights sitting out on that couch, Sam and Frodo keeping me company and our slumbering pup at my feet. I had reached the climax of the long journey. The King was returning, the White tree of Gondor blooming again and the city restored! The pain they had persevered through along the journey had not been in vain. I stowed away what courage I could for my own venture ahead. Eventually, I jumped into a hot shower, put some lavender in the diffuser and poured myself a small glass of wine. I loaded the dishes and threw some clothes in the wash because I knew I would want to bring my baby back to a clean home. I slowly put the finishing touches on our birth bags and placed them near the door– a cooler full of snacks and juices, a pillow and blanket for the drive up, massage oil and even a vase full of lilies I convinced Shane to let me fit in the back of the car (I had purchased them the night before at Trader Joes not knowing the next day I would give birth to a Lilias!)
We laugh because the night I went into labor we had plans to use a coupon a friend had given for a free couple’s massage. Last minute my prenatal certified masseuse canceled, leaving Shane to get a massage alone while I lugged my big belly around the grocery store next door. At least he would be rested for the long day ahead. Pre-labor was long and slow, lasting nearly 24 hours. My midwife suggested that I do a couple rounds of the Miles Circuit exercises because she sensed baby wasn’t in a great position (I was feeling a lot of the contraction pain in my back). She encouraged me to continue to rest as much as I could to prepare for the long night ahead. Shane filled the bed with pillows to make sure each short nap I took I was comfortable. He dimmed the lights. He made me a big breakfast that, unfortunately, I threw up minutes after finishing. I was delighted to see how gentle the contractions were to begin with— how I was able to get outside and walk and do little chores around the home. We texted family members to begin praying and my parents began their road trip up from Florida. I kept reassuring my mom that it would still be a while and she wouldn’t miss it.
We decided to get out of the house to make the time pass. We were eager for things to progress but knew we would need to be patient during this slow and steady stage of labor. We went out to lunch to try and see if there was something appetizing and protein-packed that I could keep down and we knew we wouldn’t want a sink full of dishes when we came home. I remember every bump on our gravel driveway feeling intense as a contraction came and went but it was so fun to be distracted by the outings. We kept looking at each other in disbelief that today was the day we had waited and prepared for the last nine months.
The contractions had been consistent for a couple hours now but we were waiting for them to get more intense. I wanted to labor for as long as I could in my own familiar environment. We had decided against a home-birth for our first so this was a the next best. Around 11pm we got the go-ahead from our midwife to head up, especially because we had an hour and 45 minute drive up to the Birth Center. She would meet us there and then assess the progress. We let Kelly, our doula, and my mom know that we were headed up.
Shane bundled me up in my childhood quilt and placed pillows around the seat so I was comfortable. In the car we listened to a playlist I had compiled through my third trimester. We laughed really hard at the strange compilation of artists from Aretha Franklin, Celine Deon, and Janet Jackson. Our favorite and what we later marked as the baby’s song was Donna Lewis’ “At the Beginning.” It was dark and the roads were free of traffic. It was cozy. Each contraction I would clench the door handle and try to breath, but I was invigorated by the challenge ahead of me. Shane would try to make me laugh between contractions. We recalled what we had learned during our birth class, finalized our baby names, mused about whether it was a boy or girl, imagined what it would be like to return back home with a little one. It rained a little, too, which made me so happy because I had always said I wanted it to rain when I was in labor. It’s always seems to rain on days that are life milestones, an end of an era and the beginning of a new one.
We arrived at the birth center and our midwife greeted us and helped us bring in our belongings. She laughed at the amount of things stuffed in our trunk. Common for first-time parents, she assured us. I wasn’t very dilated (although decently effaced) when we arrived and she felt that my body just needed to relax in order to progress. She dimmed the lights and drew me a warm bath and encouraged Shane to rest in bed nearby as I labored in the tub. The warm water felt amazing and eased the pain of my contractions allowing me to occasionally doze off. Shane was able to sleep in little increments too. Every so often I would catch his head peering up over the pile of pillows to see if everything was going okay and then he’d disappear into the cozy bed once again until the sounds of the next contraction startled him awake. He didn’t want to miss anything. At this point, there wasn’t much he could do to help and I just needed to bear through each contraction on my own and try to rest in between.
I practiced harnessing my imagination as the contraction pain increased, thinking about how good it would feel to have this baby laid on my chest, how worth it, it would be. It was equally comforting and terrifying to know that I could only move forward through the discomfort. There was no looking back– I had to embrace the task set before me. I thought of Shane as a father and how excited I was to see this baby’s face light up at his silly faces and dance moves. To see a part of him and a part of me in the face of our child. I thought of how thankful I was for the previous nine months of pregnancy, how they had prepared me for this moment. For the many long days spent in the sun, giving baby vitamin d and for how the farm work had kept me active and made me strong. For my own mother, how she daily lays down her life for me and my three sisters and how eager I was to show this new soul a love like this. For Kelly’s care, bringing me quarts of bone-broth, herbal tea and pregnancy snacks, educating me on labor, running errands with me, bearing through the 98 degree weather with me, preparing me for the life transition, encouraging me to rest. For Shane who had been my rock since the day we found out about this surprise. Frequently I would cry to him about not feeling ready for this change. Afraid of giving up those things I love. Sad about having to sacrifice a job that gave me so much purpose and embracing a more “hidden” home-bound life. Sad that it would no longer just be the two of us, taking on the world together, unbound by these obligations. Knowing that I was still growing up myself. He reassured me of how much sweeter life would be. Different, yes. But all the richer. So many more tears to come. But so much more laughter. More joy. More beauty. How our friendship had produced something beautiful and that love will and must grow. We can take each day in stride, trusting that the Father would provide the daily manna.
Around 4 AM, nearly 24 hours after my first contraction, the midwife came in and it was “go time.” Baby would be here soon (or so we thought). Kelly and my mom quickly rushed over from the hotel they were staying at nearby, Starbucks coffee in hand. They immediately began to set up the room and display my labor aids– my favorite quilt on my bed and on the bedside table my favorite Van Gogh’s, a picture from home of a shepherdess holding her sheep, a copper vase of fragrant Lilies (the whole room smelled like them), a photo of Shane and me, my mom holding me as a baby and the strip of ultrasound photos. A Lilias Trotter painting with a quote I had cherished through the pregnancy and even now during labor was giving me strength: “Measure your life by loss and not by gain, not by the wine drunk, but by the wine poured forth, For love’s strength is found in love’s sacrifice, And he who suffers most has most to give.”
Contractions would come and go and each one felt a little more intense than the other. Shane and Kelly would take turns pushing on my lower back to ease the pain and remind me to keep breathing. I could see my mom in the corner of the room praying and I could feel her empathy. “It’s just hard to watch your baby in so much pain and not be able to fix it,” she would tell me later. I tried several different positions to try to find one that was the most comfortable. Leaning over the bed, the birth ball, the birth stool, standing, laying, all fours. Around 9AM I began to push. It was time for baby to come! I was so ready to meet this child. The pushing lasted for four hours. I had never experienced pain like this. But it wasn’t suffering– it was pain that felt meaningful. I felt strong. Courageous. More alive then I ever have. But it was so, so hard. During that last hour, I wondered if I would have the strength to keep going. I was exhausted and didn’t have much left to give. I thought of all the women around the world who were in labor at the same time and all the women throughout history who had endured this and it filled me with pride and stubborn determination. The nurse kept handing me my labor-aid drink and telling me that I needed the hydration and sugar to get me through. I didn’t have an appetite but I managed to suck on some honey sticks. During that last hour, I was delirious and I remember trying to pray through the pushing and only really being able to think “God is with me,” over and over again.
Eventually, shortly before baby was here, my water broke. I remember crying at this because I wanted so desperately to have some sort of sign of progress. I was so confused at why baby wasn’t moving down, even though it felt like I was doing everything right. They had to frequently check her heart rate with the fetal monitor to make sure she wasn’t in distress. I later found out (midwife didn’t want to tell me and risk discouragement) that baby’s head was “Asynclitic” or tilted, making it difficult for her to descend into the birth canal. Because she was asynclitic, she was unable to help much in shimming her body down. Labors with this type of complication can be twice as long as a normal labor. Shortly after my water broke, baby had moved down enough so that the midwife could see her head. “Your baby has a full head of hair!” she told me. Despite my resisting, she grabbed my hand had me feel it. I wept at this—I couldn’t believe it! My baby has hair! Funny how this simple realization was just the motivation I needed to get through the rest of pushing.
At 1:02PM our baby finally entered the world.
8 pounds 11 ounces and 21 inches long. She came out with her hand nestled tight against her head, the way she still loves to sleep (she always manages to get her little hand out of the tightest swaddles). The umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck twice from all the flips she had done in my belly. They put her little wet body on my chest immediately and I remember my first thought being how warm she was and how incredible it felt to have her skin against my chest. I looked over at Shane and he choked out the words “it’s a girl!” (he was so adamant she was a boy this whole time!) I couldn’t believe I had a little girl. Neither of us had a preference for the gender but when he said those words I suddenly realized how much I had wanted a girl…this little girl.
The room was full of rejoicing and crying and laughter. My parents ran out to order me a “recovery bowl” at a nearby Mediterranean restaurant, full of lentils and chicken, hummus and veggies and some refreshing turmeric tea. My favorite. I had never felt so nourished by a meal. We took some photos, laughed and cried together, already recalling the highs and lows of the labor experience, called other family members to tell them the news. The nurse remarked how strong she was, already holding her head up on her own. Eventually the midwife insisted that we clear the room and rest. Both Shane and I spent most of the nap starring at her peacefully slumbering in between us, as if she was still cocooned in the womb. She was just as exhausted as we were. I would drift off and then open my eyes to again be surprised by reality of what just happened and the beautiful little girl next to me– it wasn’t just a dream. We get to take her home!
.
We named you, Lilias, after Lilias Trotter, an English painter who gave up the fame of her painting career to tell nomadic Algerian Muslims about the love of Jesus. She saw the face of God in creation and writes about the lessons she learns from the bees, the flowers outside her window, the nearby well, the child she passed in the street. I pray that you, too, would have eyes to see these seemingly “ordinary” things as radiant ideas of God and that they would spur you on toward wonder and praise. I pray that you would “consider the lilies of the field” all the days of your life— you are like one of these flowers and your Heavenly Father will delight in providing for you every day of your life—you need not worry.
“Dawn” for many reasons– after your great grandpa “Don” who went to be with Jesus the day we were going to tell him the news about you. After your parent’s love for the morning and the new energy it brings. After the comfort Aragorn gives the weary fellowship during battle “Dawn is ever the hope of man.” After the promises in scripture that we pray you cling to all your life : “Oh, that we might know the Lord! Let us press on to know him. He will respond to us as surely as the arrival of dawn or the coming of rains in early spring.” (Hosea 6:3) and Proverbs 4:18 “The path of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, which shines ever brighter until the full light of day.” Press on to know Him Lilias! Watch for the early Spring rains. We pray that your path will continue to increase in light and joy as you travel along this life journey with Jesus.
Right now as I write this you are laying heavy on my chest, the easiest way to get you to fall asleep, like when we first met. The sound machine hums in the background and the light is kept nice and dim. Soon you will wake and you’ll open your squinty, kind eyes, smack your little lips and wiggle in your swaddle, maybe give me a little grin of gratitude and ask for me to once again attend to your needs. What a beautiful thing you are, Lilias! I see God in you. Thank you for making me a mom. Thank you for already showing me the beauty of pouring forth this cup of wine, this life. What a privilege it is to know you and be your friend on this journey.
“Now and then in life, love catches you unawares, illuminating the dark corners of your mind, and filling them with radiance. Once in awhile you are faced with a beauty and a joy that takes your soul, all unprepared, by assault.” ― Jennifer Worth, Call the Midwife
It’s almost been seven months with you inside of me. You’re growing really fast and it’s finally obvious to people around me. It took you awhile to make your appearance known. I remember asking your dad silly questions too frequently, “Are you sure baby is growing?”, “are you sure it’s real?” He is always reassuring. My closet has been paired down to a handful of dresses that fit and simple tasks like leaning over and getting out of bed feel different now. I love having you here with me in this world. Funny how your existence changes everything.
I remember the moment I first knew I was pregnant- before I had taken a test and before I had told your dad- the moment I just knew in my heart. I was on the plane traveling back from family vacation and my eyes were all teary because I knew deep down that life would never be the same from that moment on. It was suddenly so beautiful to me that you came out of nowhere and surprised us. That God had known this time all along- even when we didn’t. That you had already been there with me for 6 weeks prior to my knowledge. We didn’t plan you. Only weeks before, me and your dad had been agreeing how much we love the freedom and spontaneity of the season we were in and how we felt really good about waiting a few more years before beginning a family. It’s like the moment we felt at peace with that, you came along and surprised us and God gave us a new dream we weren’t expecting.
We had been planning on starting off on a new adventure in Pennsylvania, helping with another farm start-up project- selling our things and living in a tent for a season. After hearing about you, we quickly knew our plans would need to change. I was afraid I would feel feel sad or anxious about the sudden change but in that moment, when I first laid eyes on the two parallel lines in the QT gas station bathroom, all I felt was peace. I tried to hold back from telling your dad for a little while. Thought maybe I could think up a creative way to surprise him, but I really couldn’t hold it in. I couldn’t stop grinning and chuckling. The moment I saw him (he was playing chess with a friend) the news spilled out. His eyes were all watery and his face red and his hands shaky and he just kept repeating “really??” …” are you serious??” … “is this real??” We still ask these questions daily, though we’ve had you around for some time now. We are still getting used to the idea of you. We knew in that moment that in the coming days and weeks we’d have a lot to sort through and the details of our life to figure out…but none of it really mattered in that moment. We were just simply happy.
I was thankful that you had come right at the beginning of the off-season. My first trimester up unto 20 weeks was pretty miserable in terms of morning (really, all day) sickness. Thankfully, things at the farm were slowing down. We were taking a much-needed break before starting afresh in the Spring. For some time, the job had felt lonely. I loved the solitude and the constant chatter of the chickens made me feel like I was in good company, but I missed farming with people, side by side in the dirt working for a common purpose. The day after finding out about you, I went to work not feeling so alone. Everything seem charged with new meaning and new purpose. Eventually it got more difficult to bend over to harvest or lift bags of potting soil and I would feel you kick inside me when I was washing greens or rummaging through the fridge for a customer’s pick-up. That fridge was my haven on days that were above 90 degrees. I was often frustrated at this new capacity– at my need to bend down a certain way, to take breaks, to bring a lunchbox full of high-protein snacks. But I loved having a little friend out there with me. I loved thinking about how one day I could sit you down in the soil and let you get as dirty as you wanted, teach you how to plant sunflowers, marvel at the miracle of the humble seed with you, water and nurture it all with you, track the progress with you– all the while watching you grow, too, and piece together this big world of yours.
I want you to know how worth it you are. On days when I miss my old life– when I miss the countless hours spent in the sun, farmers markets, the ability to jump in the car and go camping for the weekend, the dates alone with your dad, a clean house, a stretch mark-free belly… you are so worth it and everyday I feel thankful that God gave me you even when I didn’t know I needed or wanted you. I can’t believe I get to be your mom. You are the best surprise.
This work that is art
this gentle dealing with the seed
this patient watch for growth
all this splatter of color
texture of leaf
the smell of sun on skin
the taste of summer fruit
ache of winter wind
This work that is hope
trusting in everything underneath
for the gracious soil to bring up green
for spring rains eager arrival
for joy in this survival
This work that is humility
the breaking back
and unmet dream
sudden storm and constant weed
for toil that never feels complete
When sometimes god feels far
and ear has forgotten
the sound of his voice
which often it does and it can’t,
I head to the hive
I taste the comb
let the sweet rest on my tongue
refresh belief in His goodness.
It is good for the farmers heart to rest
to lay down spade and hay
to remove himself from weeds lush
mud muck, the endless ripening,
the wilting, the worry work,
lengthening days of ache
Come instead to his quiet
growing land
where man refrains from toil
takes a lesson from the sabbath soil
He comes and tends while we are
asleep and unaware
he comes with strong arms
sweaty brow
providing hand
taking load off
giving us all the this healing land
Here we cannot work
we only sit, watch all grow
and in the morning
how? we do not know
there lay at the table
a feast for us
all fruit of his quiet unseen work.
