My girls bring flowers
they pick from around our brick house,
sprigs of lavender, blooms of crysanthemum,
leaves of weigela. I fill the clear glass jar
with indigo, orange, and burgundy.
Like God on my sill it sits,
gifts from gifts.
Generous Wisdom | Spacious Heart
Wise Heart Practices of Movement, Metaphor, Meditation & Meaning
My girls bring flowers
they pick from around our brick house,
sprigs of lavender, blooms of crysanthemum,
leaves of weigela. I fill the clear glass jar
with indigo, orange, and burgundy.
Like God on my sill it sits,
gifts from gifts.
I change his diaper
on the bedroom floor.
White carpet, toys all around.
He grabs the book beside him
and asks me to read.
I can’t since one hand is holding him
and the other is busy, and then he says,
“…father, son, holy spirit,
bless Jesus, and Mary,
and not be sick, and not worry,
and not hit…amen…”
I continue the messy work
while he inquires about his sisters
and then we head out for a last bit of
playing, sorting, storing, reading
and wild running before bed
while my heart sings.
Chocolate milk in the morning,
knee-high hugs good-bye,
chocolate-spotted suit pants,
dark stains that won’t dry.
In what disguise will he turn up today?
Distressing, calm, or well?
It seems he sleeps and wakes within us,
sweet, Sweet Emmanuel.
We are each a Christ to one another,
each harnessing a dove.
We are Christ to each other,
loving and being loved.