The words sometimes bubble and swell, right under the surface. I feel them in my fingertips – memories of the keys I would push to turn them into black and white. But I push it off. Another sippy cup to fill, another knee to kiss, another neck to embrace. I love this crazy, chaotically busy season of my life. Love my crazy, chaotically busy girl. But it does sometimes feel like the words are caught. And in some strange way, I ache… I’m not complete without those words.
Last week in my Bible study, I read a section from my journal to the group. When I finished, one of the girls in the group said to me, “You need to write, Carrie. You have a gift.” It all flooded back… the need to write. The months of unwritten words. (Would you believe me if I told you I miss writing every day? Not a day goes by that I don’t think about it.) The reasons why… it isn’t just the busy-ness of full-fledged toddlerhood. It is this nagging sense that now my life isn’t worth writing about. Sippy cups and skinned knees and slobbery kisses… the stuff of my life, but often so seemingly unremarkable.
But it isn’t, is it? It is holy if we look at it properly. My vision needs checked – and not just my eyes. My perception is often so upside down. The seemingly insignificant is really what matters while the stuff I see as grand and important doesn’t matter a bit.
Right now she is roaming the yard, one big toe poking through the hole in her pajamas (which drives her a little crazy), picking leaves from the rosemary bush I planted this week. And I will let her… I’m choosing words over the plant right now. Besides I know she likes the smell of rosemary on her fingers.
It’s a strange morning to pick this back up again. Baby girl has a double ear infection, is teething, and my throat is all scratchy from springtime allergies. Jacob is gone, and we’ve been up since 4:30 – her screaming and me shushing. There’s a long day stretching ahead, and if I think too much about it I start feeling a little overwhelmed.
So instead I’m just going to stop. Breathe in the morning air. Hear the birds singing in the trees. Listen to her giggle as she chases LeLe through the yard. (She’s giggling and not screaming!!) See the sun shining on her golden hair. Taste the sweet bitterness of this coffee. Write these words. And thank Jesus for being more than enough for me today.