Yes, there are moments I’m like Peter, I confess. I’ll get out of the boat, but then I’m breathing water. It doesn’t take me long. It’s just a matter of time that the weight of my body prevails. I’m stuck in it, and for that, honestly, I am also grateful. I am created in the image of God Who Loves Poetry, endless metaphors. I am eating the good from the Garden of Eden once in a while. There are pleasures in this body, indeed.
I can’t really tell you how Titus is doing. He’s weighed the same, give or take a few ounces, for several months now. I can’t linger in the number on his flesh. There are some things that hurt too much, things like worry. So I don’t spend much time there. Only I snuzzle up under his chin. My shoulder is one wadded-up throb of muscle because I carry that child every single where I go. He always helps me hear the music. In the quiet far-away background, there’s always a beat, and he’s guaranteed to start popping his shoulders up and down. He’s a feeler, like his mama.
All my children terrify me if I stop to think about it too much: the moody artsiness, the pleasure-seeking, and the disobedience, how one recently raised his eyebrows up and down while announcing at the supper table that he can’t wait to find out how the daddy plants the seed in a mommy to grow a baby! One came home talking about how people are saying the F word at school (not fart, he said), and another is smart enough to manipulate the mind right out of somebody.
But they’re growing, slowly slowly slowly maturing. The oldest tells what he knows about sex to his brothers, says that it’s a special thing.We talk about how to treat women, how to always remind girls how they are meant for great things – no matter how much they act like they don’t believe it. They already have a sense of the sacredness of our bodies.
This photo of Ian was taken by our friend Brian Hirschy, and I can’t wait to show you more from him. He took our new profile pics.
Ian is absolutely the least self-aware human being I’ve ever known. It makes for such a mess that I’m always having to remind him to wash his hands and blow his nose. He could wear his shoes on the wrong feet and zip his pants up the rear everyday without even knowing it. He never stops saying thank you. He never assumes that he’s not doing well because someone else has done something great. He never assumes that he deserves something. Maybe this is how it is with all 3rd born sons. I just know that he goes to Kindergarten in the Fall, and my time at home with him has been so different and special. The other day he sat up close to me while we ate tuna sandwiches in silence. After a minute he put his sandwich down and gave me a squeeze and said, “Mama, I’ll never give up on you.” Oh yeah, I cried.
Sometimes walking on water is finding the wonder in the everyday. To abide can mean seeing a streak of peanut butter down your pants and just rubbing it in. Walking on water is taking the body for a ride while living in the Spirit, and sometimes the ride is merely from the sink to the dryer, while the Spirit relishes in how much a father loves.
Ian tells me he loves me more than I love him. I always say that there’s nothing more impossible than that. I knew him as I was making him. I loved him before he had ever laid eyes on me.