Tag Archives: letting go

The Constancy of Light

We break away from God
in our own ways,
along our own lines,
the same cracks splintering again.

But remember when
your husband was gone
and your babies were crying
and you screamed?

Your light was shining then
just as it is now
only you couldn’t see it,
and it made no sound.

Remember when
there was nothing
but anger
and nothingness?

Your light was shining then
just as it is now
only you couldn’t feel it,
it was somehow unreachable.

Remember when
the dishwasher, laundry machine,
and oven broke during the same
week everyone was sick, and you cried?

Your light was shining then
just as it is now
only you couldn’t taste it,
and its aroma was undetectable.

We will mend, in time,
these breaks, the lines,
for your light, God’s light,
will shine through the cracks.

Trust (III)

Before her head hits the pillow,
she laments, “I can’t sleep;”
and so the littler one joins her,
“I. Can’t. Sleeeeeep,” she says as she falls
sideways on her bed.
I listen to myself whisper,
“Sleep will come to you.
Sleep will come to you; it just takes practice.”
I say it many times in a row and wonder if it’s true;
I say it many times in a row and take heart in it.
“It’s okay; sleep will come.”

Finally, they pull blankets over their shoulders,
their bodies warm up, eyes close.
Sleep has come whispering, “Surprise
surprise, it just takes practice
and letting go.”

All at once I think about Grace
and the discipline of letting go
and letting go
and letting go
more.
“Practice,”
whispers Grace,
“Practice.”

It’s okay, Spirit whispers, Grace will come to you.

Just Right Now

The ruckus of the little lives in our house keeps the baby from sleeping.  He falls asleep most often when he’s been strapped into his car seat and has no choice but to stay in one spot.  His big sisters keep him busy, interested, distracted, and engaged.  Why would he ever entertain the notion of taking a nap, he asks me, by way of kicking, fish-flopping, arching, and sliding out of my lap.  But, at noon today the girls fell fast asleep in their beds listening to Brown Bear, Brown Bear, with full bellies, and tired legs.  So, he walked up to me at the table, put his head down on my leg, and swayed his hips back and forth while I typed a bit.  Then he whined, and I picked him up.  We sank  into the rocking chair where I cradled him like a newborn.  Through the open windows we felt the cool April breeze, we listened to the late-coming birds, and we were startled by the neighborhood terrier.

Often times I feel crushed and stifled by the force of a little person demanding that I stop absolutely everything that I could ever even dream of doing and sit still.  This time was no different.  Though, it seems he strapped me into my own seat.  My eyes closed and I fell asleep a few times before he did.  The last time I woke was to the sound of his soothie popping from his mouth and bouncing from his belly to the chair to the floor.  I lifted one eyelid and peeked down to see his eyes just barely shut, his tongue and lips puffed out, and his mouth still sucking on the pacifier that had dropped far below.

Now, all three babes are sleeping in their beds, and the biggest babe is at school.  The house is quiet expect for the sounds of laundry going in the basement and the bird-chatter out the windows.  Many tasks call for my attention, but I am not sure I will tend to anything.