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These are the glorious days and the best are yet to come
Glorious all bathed in light and rolling in His love. New feet trod light the grass and find all there is to be delighted in. Ah, these days of roaming far and wide and cuddling close at home . . . they are filled with work but need not hold worry for the best is always ahead of us. His glory is to come. When they are no longer babies carried in my arms and dangled on my knee then they will be boys running off to adventure as his brothers did this weekend. Off to learn the ways of men with fishing poles and sleeping bags in the classroom of the wilderness. And when they no longer need us to drive and teach and pack their bags, when their lips no longer quiver at the fearful dark – then they will be men and we will experience who they have been created to become. When I can no longer fit them inside my embrace, they will wrap strong arms around for a quick hug and I will wonder at the wonder of it all. This miracle God has employed me in.
They run off into the wild and I enjoy quiet enough to hear my own thoughts and time to soak my baby in. We dilly and we dally, ride bikes and take long baths. We sleep in and eat our favorite food and we go to the garden. The garden on a cloudy day with no plan and no timeline and we walk in circles and inspect the dirt. He finds a fig tree, dignified in its stance, roots spread out like gnarled fingers, sweet fruit dropped round. He picks up dried figs, too big treasure clasped in his little fists. He drops and gathers, climbs and trips, wanders and wonders through the beauty of it all. This earth given for us to cultivate, this moment given for me to cherish.
A fountain is found, statues covered with succulents dancing round the water running. A wonderland we circle and circle, staring through the drops cascading. And on he runs to a field of green, exploring on and on . . . a shady spot, a lovely day, still he wants to see more, know more, do more. I walk by his side and let him explore, surprised to find no sadness in the loss of his helpless days but joy in meeting who he is become.
He wants to help the gardeners, but he is not yet grown enough to hold the tools and trim the lawn. They give him a flower, his consolation prize. He runs, brings it me, his offering of love. Is there anything ever that I could need more? No this is all, ever, always enough and will be even in its changing state. In this knowledge I am. Content.
3-31-12 . 24-70 . LR + VSCO . cloudy afternoon in the garden
