“Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord” (Psalm 127:1)
Motherhood is such a mix of blessing and labor. Mundane and ineffable moments are all wrapped up together in this daily grind and daily magic. And how easy it is to lose sight of the magic midst the grind! I wanted to share these two unpolished poems of mine which help me to focus on the bigger picture, and the gift it all is.
Dimpled legs as you stretch
on tiptoe to the bowl placed carefully out of reach
of your curious cocked finger.
Your chortle, a babble of indiscernible gifts, erupt around
your two-toothed smile,
and then you turn to me, and raise your hug-soft arms
And your need is the easiest wish I ever could fulfill as I
scoop you up to my chest and
for a moment
your sweet-warm head rests beneath my face and I breathe in
And then you are wriggling down, away from me, to a ball, a cup, a block:
any of the undiscovered joys of today.
And I watch your supple body squat and crawl and stand and grab and reach.
There is such impossible perfection in your tiny form.
And I can only wonder that it is given to me–
this stumbling, seeking, striving me–
I Said a Prayer Today
I said a prayer today
as I stroked the sick head of my first baby
lying listless on the couch,
her eyes watching me with solemn trust
as her younger brother chattered at me from the kitchen
certain that I can see and know and fix,
because I am
All while their baby sister nuzzles warm head into my lap with small giggling grunts
as if to burrow her whole being into mine.
Lord, I pray,
help me to catch these moments
that are dropped
into my lap
If only I notice.
“An atmosphere of innocence flows into little children, and through them into the parents so as to affect them… Little children have this innocence, because they do not think from anything interior; for they do not yet know what is good and evil, and true and false, so as to think in accordance with them. Therefore they do not have any prudence of their own, nor any design from a deliberate motive, thus are without any purpose for evil. They do not have a character acquired from love of self and the world. They do not credit anything to themselves. All that they receive they attribute to their parents. They are content with the little things they are given as gifts. They do not worry about their food and clothing, and are not anxious about the future. They do not pay regard to the world and covet many things on account of it. They love their parents, their nursemaids, and their little companions, and play with them in a state of innocence. They allow themselves to be guided; they listen and obey.
Such is the innocence of early childhood, which occasions the love called storge.” (Married Love 395)