Gifts to Hold. Gifts to Give.
November 28, 2018
There are times when I close my eyes and picture the self I would be most proud to embody — the mama I would hope for my daughters to recall.
When I see her, she is simple and lovely—feminine without fuss. She is intentional and practical. Always learning. Always gracious. Always singing. Always dancing. Always making. Always nurturing. Aways, always loving.
When I hear her voice, it is gentle and full of laughter. Her words are full of thankfulness. And her songs are full of praise.
When I see her smile, she is wrapped up in the arms of the ones she loves. She is collecting treasures from a garden. She is lost inside a favorite novel. She is writing love letters.
When I look at her life, it is full—not of possessions but moments. It is overflowing with love. She finds gladness in the everyday routine, even her chores—because each task serves a family who has captivated her whole heart.
When I dream her dreams, they are not for grandeur, they are filled with whimsy and wonder.
When I look to her, I find that we are on a journey to becoming more alike. Little by little. day by day.
I happened upon these words I had written some 18 months ago. I read them once more for the first time since that November day in 2018. And then I read them again. And again. And again.
I loved the way my heart beat to the rhythm of the words as if by memory. Song by song. Prayer by prayer. Task by task.
A joyful spirit.
I penned these words once more onto a new sheet of handmade paper. Memorizing them a little deeper. Finding them a little truer. Holding them a little closer.
She and I- We have always been one. Connected by the heart strings of hope and dreams.
But a great deal has changed in the 18 months since that prose came to be. My children have learned to echo the actions of their mother. And through their voices, their songs, their tender ways of caring, nurturing and loving, they have revealed a window to my own soul; a mirror binding together the ideal with the physical.
I could never have believed it, if not for the innocence of my darling girls, bestowing such a blessing of truth which only they could tell.
And for every glimpse through the window, I am drawn deeper into the grace of that quiet place. Holding tightly to the sound of a voice, the touch of a hand, that taste of treat, the beat of a heart, the gift of a new day.
Heavenly gifts.
Gifts to hold. Gifts to give.
