There is a way contentment sings, the purpose of the song and the beauty, the waking to hope. I step over a pile of clothes, like instead of having put them up as is the rule, God had me stack them so I’d see how much I have. Wadded up down there in the floor blocking the narrow pathway around our big bed in this apartment, our lives have never looked more messy.
I’ve never been happier. When my Aunt Cathy found out she was having her 4th son, I was a little girl, and I remember thinking how insane she was, like she had a choice in the matter. I would take four more. God, I would take four more.
I’ve called women Super Woman. “Well, I’m not Super Woman, like you,” I’ve said. I know now how offensive that is, how wrong.
My back hurts. Titus’s eyelashes are so long. If my eyes weren’t getting a tad blurry, I’d count them all. When I pray lately, I say “Daddy.”
At the table I shimmy around a strapped-in highchair and a baby swing. I step barefoot in oatmeal. I bounce Titus, and I walk from child to child. Try to stay in the lines; Reread that sentence; Try again on that lower case “e”; I am so proud of you, so proud, and quit eating that crayon.
Will I ever be happier than I am right now? More tired? Watch me become nothing I thought I would and everything I said I wouldn’t be.
I have craft ideas. Is this what happens to women in their 30′s, they get craft ideas? Is this what I get for saying I’m not crafty? Just go with it, Amber. Pick up that crochet hook. Buy the fabric and the glue gun. Look around, shrug your shoulders, and GO.
Sunday we dedicated Titus to the Father of Lights. Our entire Community Group came. They surrounded us with hands. We bowed our heads as an elder prayed, and I cried, thinking, “how did I get here, how so blessed?” Then Ian shoved The Joker from Batman into my tall boots, and I found it maybe 4 hours later.
God does not indwell us to be ignored. I’m stretching out, being made for the good wine. I know the seasons are short, but the wine gets better.
This week, one of our community endured 40+ hours of labor before birthing a ginormously gorgeous baby. I hugged her, so proud I thought I would rip, and she smiled and said she would do it again. Super woman? I know better. We drink the good wine.
Seth leaves again for Africa in January. God knows ahead of me. That’s all I have, and the dishwasher goes on making its hum. Clothes get dirty faster than they get clean. I don’t know how to get them put up. And then there’s Africa, how things fall apart,
how God still inhabits the praise of His people.