I sit in a hospital waiting room while my mother is having shoulder surgery. I watch a woman take a picture of herself eating a sub so that she can send it to her brother. They usually eat subs together while their parents are having surgery. Today it is her husband that is having a procedure. Her heart wishes her brother was there.
I see a father come in the room bringing a birthday gift for his daughter, an OR nurse. I am caught more by the way that he beams than I am by his thought or gift. What a blessing it is to be loved. To have someone to love. ... and to miss.
I laugh about the morning. I sat by my mother's bed after she had received a nerve block. She could not feel her entire arm. I take advantage of the situation and use her arm to wave at people in the hallway, then to scratch herself maybe even to flick me off and pick her nose. For a combination of reasons, she is defenseless and can't jerk away from my attacks. I am tickled. She is too, even if she is annoyed. I do the little piggies on her fingers. I repeat another version that I've heard from my husband's great aunt. I know that this is becoming another story that will be retold.
...heritage.
I think of my last post about arrows. -About children. I've edited it a dozen times since it's been published. At first because I only spoke of wrongs I do as a mother. You may not know that I laughed as I wrote about the early years of parenting. I should have included my usual "haha" at the end of each paragraph. Then you'd know I wasn't taking myself too seriously. I've practically been obsessed with what I might need to do to fix the story. Something just felt off. ...it had such potential to be beautiful.
This morning I realize that it's not what I need to go back and correct. Mistakes are part of parenthood. It's the addition that still awaits us. There is more to say.
The first two lines of my verse (Psalm 127:3-5) are: Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward.
The generations of lives, I've watched touch each other in the hospital just this morning, reflect family, lineage, ...heritage. Coming from somewhere and belonging to someone. A knowing that no matter what two are better than one. (Ecclesiastes 4:9-12)
How much my children make my heart burst open to the realization that I can love MORE. It outgrows my heart and becomes a giving of the soul and spirit. Not just at birth. Not just in a sleepy-eyed snuggle in the morning. Not just in witnessing them in their rarest and purest form(s). I love them more than I ever thought that I could love anyone or anything. But not just that-
Charles Dickens said “It is no small thing, when they, who are so fresh from God, love us. ”
Because they are fresh from God, they are not yet polluted with smut of the world, or stale words or false intentions. It's always sincere. Pure. Unconditional. Hopeful. Not waiting for an answer. Seeing their love reminds me of how much we (adults) confuse and misshape the gifts that we give others. Their simplicity makes me realize that I can love others more and differently as well. Not only in my future path but those I am alongside or have left behind.
They a curious about life. Honest about what they see and still able to dream without hindrance. They forgive easily because they desire us more than the grudge or any thing.
They truly are a reward. Not because we deserve it, earned it or won it. Not even because we are (what you and I might deem) "worth it". They each are a blessing and a gift. ...because he first loved us. (1 John 4:19)
Click here to read Part 1
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