Girl giggles burble up from her middle. That little laugh is music, balm even, to a stretched mama soul. Of all the sounds, that's the one I choose night after night when he asks me which was the best moment of my day.
And then he reaches strong, warm hand to me, and we pray. Simple words, asking for rest and peace, praying that it all gets done, and that there's more rest on the other side.
I won't say that the days I'm living right now are easy ones, ones I would put on "Repeat" and play over and over and over again. But I wouldn't wish them away, either. I wouldn't wish us secure and oblivious to the larger questions that loom. I wouldn't wish that we would choose safety over possibility. I might wish a more gradual slope for our ascent (or is it a descent now?), but I wouldn't take the climb away.
After all, the night is not forever. I have to remind myself of that sometimes. The night is not forever. And afterwards, there is morning.
Thank God for morning . . .
. . . and for baby giggles
and husband strength
and the monkey suit
and how much she loves pears (like her Daddy, this one)
and family who say, "Come and stay"
and for Julie Bee, who I will miss
and new relationships, flowering even as we plan to leave
and homemade pizza, warm and heartening
and for enduring love.
With Ann today . . .