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What do you see?

IMG_5527.JPGWhen you look at this picture what do you see? An hour ago, when we had just gotten home for an acquaintances’ and I was in bedtime mindset, I saw my three year old son standing in the water. I was so frustrated as I was ready for them to be snoozing, so I called him in and we had an upset which meant straight to bed for him. After both kids were finally in bed (don’t judge, yes I look forward to them being in bed, but I also look forward to them being awake! 😉 ), I was reading on the couch when I realized what I had missed.

When we got home, he had climbed up the stairs, taken off his boots, and slipped his toes into the water. And he was quiet. Let me repeat that, my three year old was quiet. As I look back, he was standing in the water, hand resting on a chair for balance, and his eyes were watching the birds in the trees. I missed him being present. I missed being present. I have come to think of ‘being present’ as looking for what is important right now and in this moment– and I blew it.

After stepping out of the water, he proceeded to dump it out as any natural child would. So, I went and filled it up again, retrieved my son from bed, and had him step back in the water. I then asked what did he see, he saw a bird 20 yards away in a tree. What did he feel, he felt the chair he was holding on too. What else did he feel, he felt the cool water. I told him I was glad he wanted to stick his toes in the water, but it was also important to listen to Mama. And we talked about it. We went back to his room, I tucked him back in, then returned to my book.

Parenting doesn’t feel natural to me. Being present– looking for the important thing that is happening right now, isn’t easy for me. But I want it to be.

Tidal Wave

The house has gone quiet, suddenly.
It filled like a tidal wave.
Noise came in
filled the home with life,
then it left.
Leaving behind
a tidal pool of trinkets:
a button,
a bell,
a bib.

I miss them already.   My daughter, her husband and two children just left.  What will I do now?  My lap, my eyes, my ears and my heart feels so empty.

Fragments

I was scared but Christ came by
Hanging photos of fragments
this taker of photos knows the camera won’t lie
He sees what he sees and is quiet inside

Hanging photos of fragments
a testament of truth
He sees what he sees and is quiet inside
The beauty he’s found a delight all his own

A testament of truth
This taker of photos knows the camera won’t lie
The beauty he’s found a delight all his own
I was scared but Christ came by

I went to a bar and had a glass of wine and watched the people around me, and was fascinated by a young man hanging some of his photographs.  His artwork drew me in and it made me wonder about his story.

Migrant Farm

The migrant farm, all grey with weathered wood.
poverty shuttled, awkward and away,
keeping distance between me and the other

The housing is hidden, migrants unseen.
Their clothes are thin and worn, dirty and torn
They pick in the heat, the rain and the mud.

How sheltered we are, how pretty our hands.
All calloused, and bruised, and burnt are theirs.
They pick the melons, and apples and peas.

They kill the chickens, the beef and the hogs
doing the jobs that repel us the most,
Then move along in broken down wagons.
Our conscience untapped, and our plates so full.