bits of sunshine

morning words

almost every morning before they leave for school, i read to my kids.  this tradition started long ago.

when maddie and isaac were little, and i was homeschooling them, we read through more than one Bible story book, a chapter or two each morning.

when i was teaching at school, i read a poem or two aloud at the beginning of every day.

these past two years, i read a verse and a short writing about it (a devotion), or a passage of scripture, or a chapter from a book, while the kids are eating breakfast. 

ben knows that i do this, and, as leaves for work just before six every morning, he has found a way to be part of our morning readings. he sits with his Bible and a notebook while he eats his breakfast, and writes down a Bible reference and a few paragraphs of his thoughts about the verse or passage. then, while the kids and i are eating breakfast, we read ben's morning words.

this morning, i added a book for advent. {i know, i got off to a bit of a late start, but the words will still be on the page, and we will catch up before christmas day arrives.}

as i picked up the book and told the kids that i was going to start reading it, isaac said, "you really like to read, mom."  i replied, "yes.  i really do," but i didn't know if he meant that in a sort of teasing way, like i read to them too much . . . before i could think that for too long, he said, "and i really like to listen."  "so we are a good pair," i said.  "what about you, maddie?" i asked.  "do you like to read or listen?"  she just shrugged her shoulders.  and, as i opened the jesse tree, i started to wonder if i was slowly losing her as a wonder-filled listener.

but, i read the introduction.  and i read the first lesson, about God creating the world, and placing adam and eve in the garden.  and the choice that caused adam and eve to be expelled from the garden.  just then, maddie broke in,  "do you think the garden still exists somewhere?"  and we talked about that for a bit.  about how the garden may have been destroyed in the great flood.  about how many of the rivers that used to flow in the middle east have long since dried up, that the place the garden was may be buried under a desert.  i continued to read, and one paragraph later, the boy in the book asks, "so what happened to the garden?" and we all three laughed, because the author anticipated that a kid would ask what happened to the garden, just like maddie had done.  when i closed the book, i could tell that we are all looking forward to me reading the next chapter aloud, tomorrow, over breakfast.

mary poppins only stayed until the wind changed

The other day I almost scrolled past a picture of a sign in an Instagram square – the sign says “Stay Awhile” in beautiful script – I caught my breath, and I stopped my scrolling to look longer.  I pictured this sign in someone’s dining room and I thought, really?  Can I?  Will I find the place where I can stay awhile?  

Because I sure haven’t found it yet.  I have ever only stayed until the wind changed.  I had my first eight birthdays in seven different houses.  I went to college at two different schools.  I lived with my parents one summer, and then I didn’t. 

I have been married to Ben for sixteen years.  In that time we have lived in twelve different places, and we will add number thirteen in January. 

Stay awhile. 

That would be nice. 

I think. 

It seems like it would be such nice thing to settle into a house and paint it just the way we like, and have that favorite chair in that favorite corner, where I can be found reading or journaling or underlining something in my Bible.  To have the spot on the counter where my kids and their friends know they can always find a cookie tin filled with homemade cookies.  To trip over Isaac’s shoes in the same place, by the same kitchen door.  To, years from now, leave a room painted the colors Maddie likes, because I want to keep the memory of her painting it.  To always set up the Christmas tree in front of that particular window . . . and years from now, know that Maddie and Isaac will expect that it would be just there, just the same, when they come home for Christmas. 

I used to get so upset with Ben when he would talk about home – the place he grew up, where his parents still live.  “No,” I would tell him, “that’s your parents’ house.  Home is here.  Where you and I live together.” 

And this is how it always is for me.  Even though I have heard the song Home is Wherever I’m With You so very many times, when I hear it, I catch my breath and hold the words home and wherever close.  We can be in a tent or the back of a pick-up truck or a house or an apartment, we can be driving down the road or sitting by a lake or in a coffee shop.  As long as the four of us are together, as long as my husband and I are together, this is when my heart is at home. 

A house or an apartment, I have told myself, is just a shell for us to live in.  Home is us, B+E+M+I together.  That equals home every time.   

And yet, lately, I think I want a home place for our kids.  I want them to be able to settle in to a house for the end of junior high and their high school years.  I want them to have a place to talk about and remember as home.  I want a home for us.  For me.    

But I’m afraid to want it too much.  Because just when I get my violets blooming or when I get furniture settled for the flow of traffic and life or I am well into making a friendship or two, just when I’m really ready to stay awhile, that’s when something changes, and we aren’t going to stay much longer.

This fall, we knew that change was in the air.  Good things coming, really.  Changes that will be good for all four of us.  Ben had applied for a position that is a step up, and things were in the works for that to happen.  Maddie and I were painting a homecoming slogan on the front window of the convenience store where I work.  As we were working, my boss asked us if we would do this again next year, because it all looked so great.  I knew the likelihood of us still being here next fall was almost non-existent.  I wanted to quote Mary Poppins, “That’s a pie crust promise.  Easily made, easily broken.  I will stay until the wind changes.”

Because that is what I do.  I stay for a moment, not for awhile.  I swoop in.  Bring good cheer and bit of sass.  Make some things better.  Laugh.  Sing a lullaby or two.  Make an empty room homey and beautiful.  Then pack up and move on.  I painted the window this year, but won’t be here to paint it next year. I have been subbing at school this fall, but won’t be here to fill in after Christmas.  I give smiles and kinds words to everyone I work with and serve, but I will move on to a new work place in January.  The wind is changing.  We move on when the wind changes.  An adventurous way to live, but never an easy way to live. 

I wonder if after a while even Mary Poppins would have felt exhaustion from arriving with the wind, telling folks why they wanted and needed her around, making things cheerful and wonderful, putting people in a better place with her snappy, sassy personality and a whole lot of love, and then moving on when the wind changed. 

So far, I have had no stay awhile place.

I have only stay awhile people and stay awhile moments. 

No matter the shell we are in, no matter if we get to paint it the way we like or not, Maddie and Isaac will see me read and journal and underline in my Bible; they and their friends will find a tin of homemade cookies on whatever counter in whatever kitchen.  I may not trip over Isaac’s shoes in the same place.  Ben and I may not stay in this next place we are going to live in.  We may not have the same Christmas tree in front of the same window for more than a few years. 

But we will have each other.  And Ben and I will be home for our kids to come to.  Through all the adventures and changes in the wind, we will be home for each other.  We will be the stay awhile that each other needs. 

just sitting here on the corner of awesome and bom-diggity

happy friday, friends!