letters to isaiah.



isaiah-


my dearest baby boy, tomorrow you will turn one. so bittersweet. you have lived along side of us for a whole year, you are our family. it has been my greatest pleasure and privilege to watch you grow. i have had the joy of relearning what i take for granted and looking upon the world with fresh eyes. never have i been so strong spiritually as i have over this last year, marveling over your creation, your appearance, your growth even before birth. it has been awesome to experience so intensely such evidence of Christ's sovereignty and mastery. i cherish my time with you and all the happiness you bring. all your slobbery kisses and pats with grubby hands. your toothy smiles and baby breath. i even miss you when you go to bed for the night, checking in on you enough times that i have accidentally woke you. meeting you was one of the most powerful and beautiful moments of my life. i remember thinking i could not ever possibly love you more. and yet, i do. everyday. even more now than when i started this letter. i count myself blessed that God chose me, created me to be your mother. at times, i have failed you over this last year, and i'm sure i will again over the next. but i love you desperately. you came into this world so fragile, so small. and rapidly you have gotten so much bigger, so independent for such a little boy. my heart continually swells and overflows: first a smile, then a laugh, then a roll, then a crawl, and now you are walking with large strides. almost running. on your way to becoming a man i am already so proud of. dear boy, you shine. you are not perfect, but then again who is. what you are, however, is a gift, a spark...a life created with care and intention. even at one year old, i am starting to get glimpses into who you are becoming. you are so serious at times, so inquisitive. you are bashful in certain situations and downright silly before bed time. it's my favorite time. you love to wander and explore. you're not affraid to be alone. you're fascinated by doors. you're stubborn and persistent. half the time you cry when scolded and the other half, you laugh. you're clever and quick. you're sweet but with a temper. you've been a glorious challenge and an unmatched reward. one day you will read this letter, perhaps some time from now, but you might not fully understand it for quite awhile. but i pray one day you'll have your own family, and it will all make perfect sense. what i want you to know is this: this life happens too quickly. don't waste it. i pray that you will love wrecklessly and chase Jesus with all your heart. that you are tough and tender. that you are gentle, a listener. stay simple and wide eyed. be humble and forgiving. laugh often, but take care not to be foolish. fight for the Truth. my son, i love you so greatly. please remember love at such a magnitude is only possible through Christ. isaiah, happy first birthday to you. i will love you always. always.
 
 
so very,
momma

my bathtub is a time machine.

i drew myself a bath, let the water run over my toes. i poured in some salts because i like their grit, and i like the way they smell, though i'm not sure what the fragrance is supposed to be. they are a homemade gift in an unmarked glass bottle. they're sweet and fresh. i've nearly used a third of my portion.

then i poured some more.

and just like that, i found myself somewhere in a memory. i was a little girl in an unnamed apartment...clean and white and empty with firm brown carpet and freshly painted walls. i saw myself exploring, peeking around corners, and pondering adventure. i was there. submerged in this recollection. it was keen and real, and then it was gone. i couldn't tell you how old i was or whose apartment i was in. but the scent of those salts brought me back...through a series of buried connections i found myself in the past. time travel. it was so vividly distinct and so cloudy, like remembering a dream. it shot me through the webs of my subconscious and then snapped me back to my bath.

i don't know if this makes any sense at all. or if it's supposed to. i think the smell of the salts must have reminded me, some version of myself, of painted walls. fresh paint.

this remembering has happened a surprising amount lately. perhaps it's because i live on the farm again...i'm home...stepping over this familiar ground. or maybe it's because now i have a child of my own and find myself reliving the past often, find myself aware of my age. aware that i'm supposed to be an adult, yet excited and envious to watch him grow. i find a part of myself beautifully longing and aching for something that has past away. contemplating breveity. but still, i'm delighted with each fleeting memory...capturing each treasure in a mason jar like children do.

i'm thoroughly enjoying this life, the making and the remembering. the change. from time to time, though, i do admittingly get lost in the photographs, even ones from not even a year ago. when our son was born. the nostalgia is sticky sweet and heavy like smoke. the years lap unyieldingly, flying right on by. i'm amazed at how different everything has become. but what's stranger still, is how much everything is the same.*

*but more on that later.

patience.

i've been gone for awhile.

i wouldn't be surprised if this doesn't reach anyone at all.

if this blog were a garden, i suppose it'd look something

like the bamboo that has choked out my grandmother's circle of roses beside the driveway of our soon-to-be new old home.

i'm feeling restored now.

these days, i have more and more energy and less and less blah.

these early months of baby making has left me drained.

the onset of all the tremendous change coming our way has had me feeling raw

and chopped off at the roots.

but i am grounded again...

and the grass is lovely and plush,

spongy and green,

like an inviting bed.

i feel, deep down, i was made to artistically create.

lately, there hasn't been a whole lot of that going on.

no silver, no stones, no illustrating...

or quilting or sewing or painting

or ANY of the things i figured i would have mastered by now.

a few sketches every now and then, a few words

when something won't let me rest.

and that's it.

typically, when it comes to "getting it out" -

putting my heart down that is -

i like to do things quickly.

see results instantly.

very childlike, i know.

patience has eluded me

and creative motivation fallen flat.

of course, it doesn't hurt that all my supplies are packed neatly away in storage as we await the completion of renovations on our house.

humph.

but i still feel the pulse.

saturday, paul and i stopped by a fabulous handmade market 

in north carolina on our way to the beach.

there were so many talented artists there doing their thing.

and in my depths, a twinge.

THIS IS FOR ME...still.

though i don't know what it looks like yet.

the beautiful jj was there with her table of jewels.

it was such an inspiration to finally meet her...

such a captivating person

(with talent out the wazoo)!

i'm not in school anymore - breathe.

i think i can do this - still.

right now though, 

i am taking the time i need, my body needs,

to create thee absolute best thing that could 

possibly ever come from my life.

our baby.

and there is no shame in that.

and while it feels like i'm standing still at the moment,

everything is actually happening incredibly fast.

life is unfolding while i type this...

and that, my friends, is some kind of divine art.