I stand in the kitchen;
oil sizzles in the pan, dishes clink on the counter.

He wraps his baby arms around my leg,
chest and cheek pressing against knee and thigh.

“I la loo, I la loo, Mommy.”
I am his tree, rooted in his new soil.

I lie on the floor;
legs hover above the carpet, back lifts away from the ground.

He climbs his baby body on top of me,
hands and knees on ribcage and belly.

“I la loo, I la loo, Mommy.”
I am his path, worn in his new ground.

I kneel, hips over heels, near the piano;
clothes stack up neatly, towels wait in a heap.

He plops his baby bottom on my lap,
Legs on legs, hands on hands.

“I la loo, I la loo, Mommy.”
I am his rock, passing ancient time on his new land.

He doesn’t know it yet, but he is kingdom-seeking;
his is a loamy garden, sandy, full of loose clay and black dirt.

He learns love,
and he loves.

look up


My world is so close.

So tiny. So right before my eyes.

It is all little grabbing hands

and chubby feet and

eyes, noses, mouths,

bellies, arms, and legs

that all need loving, and I forget

to see God in it.  I am forever looking down and in.


In the vast expanse

of the horizon line,

in a surround of grass and forest,

in fields, on mountains, and shores,

I look up and out always

and am freed into a new perspective

and a new love of the old old God.


I want to look up

when I look down.

I will see trees and sky

and vast expanse when I am nose to nose,

when I am lathering, rinsing, drying,

diapering, dressing, zipping.

When I am adjusting socks and fastening shoes,

I will look up.

When they come to me crying,

wailing, screaming, yelling,

I will be in awe of God’s power

to create such multi-faceted, complex beings,

and I will see their eternal souls

and I will see the God that they are a part of

when I look down, look over, look into

their sweet sweet eyes.

I will.