Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Paper Scrap Offering

Words fill up so much of who I am. Devouring and poring over His words of life, words of instruction moment by moment in mothering, words to relax by reading a book in bed.

Words call, writing calls - it is part of me. I sit at the YMCA on the last day of swimming lessons and I am nearing tears over the beautiful ending to Lisa Jo's book. My littles are splashing nearby with giggles and eyes alight with joy. And just before they dismiss for ice cream I check my email and re-read this post along with gracious, kind, approving words from my mom on behalf of two and I am nearly undone.

Emotion knows no boundaries. It can move me walking through crazy New York City or sitting at the local Y and many places in between. I sit on an uncomfortable bleacher seat in the humid chlorine-smelling pool area and have to stand up and face the window for my tears to remain just my own. Pulling it somewhat together with busy work of collecting shoes, sorting out towels and putting one foot in front of the next - I hope no one will really look deep into my eyes as I walk.

My sweet babies are piled up on a small child-sized wooden picnic table painted a sunny yellow on top delighting in wonder of unexpected chocolate ice cream and them my heart is nearly undone again when Samuel fills his spoon with this delight and offers it to his mama. Oh, the sweet gift of more than just a bite of chocolate yumminess.

I am nearly desperate for a pen and paper or will sit and peck on my phone if necessary. When words come they take hold of me and are just begging to be given freedom from the confines of my insides.

Six little eyes look at me and ask for more time to swim and getting the answer they are hoping for are off to splash and frolic and delight. I am digging through my just-cleaned-out purse for a.n.y.t.h.i.n.g. I can write on. I pull out two old grocery lists and a receipt and these words spill over and are planted with hope that they will grow and bloom into healing for me and glory for Him.

I am a writer. Published doesn't matter. Public doesn't matter. It is not a platform - this space. It is an altar, an offering of myself in response to who He made me to be. To God be the glory.