Sit

Sometimes I need a gentle reminder of what's important.  Today has been a very "Martha" day for me.  We had Bible Study at our house at lunchtime and I spent the morning in a semi-frenzy getting ready for it.  (I am nothing if not a procrastinator.)  Els ends up with the short end of the stick on these days because I do things to keep her occupied and out of my way mostly which leaves us both frazzled.  She had a mini breakdown about 15 minutes before people were supposed to arrive and I stuck her in her bed to cool off while I finished preparations for lunch.

Then it hit me.

Where was the love in this situation?  All that my 18-month old wanted was my attention.  Me.  Not what I can do.  I could have my house looking spotless and lunch tasting delicious, but if it's at the expense of love, it means nothing.  Well, then Bible Study came and went and was wonderful, but I forgot the little lesson God began in my heart beforehand.  Els and I walked out to get the mail before nap time and as we were walking back through the yard I heard her behind me say, "Sit."  And she did.  Right in the dirt in her pretty dress.  It was a not so subtle reminder to me that she wanted to spend time with her Mommy.  (Also, it was quite possibly the cutest thing I've seen in a while.)  My heart was melted.  I sat for 15 minutes or so and she ran around picking up various treasures (dead flowers, leaves, shells, hand-fulls of dirt) and bringing them back to me.  We had the best time.

She is priceless and I have this one life to live with her.  I am immensely blessed indeed.

What's in a Name

For some reason, though most of you know it, I've never written Els' actual name on this blog.  I felt like it was some small measure of internet security, but I put so much other stuff about us on here, I don't know why it mattered.  And now I'm faced with a dilemma because baby #2 doesn't have a name that so easily lends itself to a blog nick-name.  So here goes with the names.

She is Eliana (the Lord has answered).

He is Miller (my maiden name).

There you go.

Labor of Love

It's been a long time coming, but B made us a bed!  He has always joked with me about how he can make me anything I need, and in this case, he did.

Please note the little head popping up on the far side.  She loves that the side rails also double as footholds that she can now use to successfully climb up on our bed by herself.

Language of the Soul

Since May, I have had the pleasure of being in a book club with some of the most encouraging ladies I've ever known.  We meet every two weeks to talk about classical literature but I leave every time encouraged as a believer, as a mother, and just as a person in general.  Right now we are right smack dab in the middle of John Milton's Paradise Lost.  It's Milton's fleshed out version of the fall of Satan and subsequent fall of man written in epic poem version.  And it's gorgeous.  We spent some time tonight talking about how sometimes poetry can say things in such ways as to make them make more sense than prose.

The same is true for all of the arts, I think.  Whether a painting, a poem, a song, or other art form, I believe that they reach different parts of us than mere words.  They speak a language of their own and differently to each one of us.  They are the languages of the soul.  It was actually happy coincidence that we talked a bit of this tonight because I was thinking about it in regard to music last night.  B and I watched the movie, "The Soloist", and it was incredible.  It is the true story of a LA Times reporter who befriends a homeless man who is a musical prodigy.  There is this one beautiful scene in the movie where Nathaniel Anthony Ayers, the homeless musician, is presented by the reporter with a cello for the first time in many years.  Mr. Ayers sits down on a makeshift stool on the side of the road and begins to play.  And the look on his face as his bow glides across the strings!  He's hearing the language of his soul for the first time in years.  And I knew that look because I know that language too.  I was almost in tears.  Jamie Foxx should have won an Oscar for that scene alone.  

Maybe everyone's like this and I just don't know it, but songs speak to me in ways that nothing else can.  Music makes me feel alive.  What an incredible gift!

What makes you feel alive?

Love Songs

I don't know why, but today, as I was making chocolate chip cookies, I was thinking about my favorite love songs.  Maybe because making any kind of "dessert" makes me think of my dessert-loving Marine, or maybe it's because I'm a total sap and I love love songs.  Either way, I thought that I'd share with you my short list of favorite love songs.  In no particular order, here they are:

Forever by Ben Harper
Kingdom Come by Coldplay
Springtime Indiana by Sandra McCracken
One by U2
You Are the Best Thing by Ray LaMontagne

Not exhaustive, but it's a start.  And, random, I know, especially with all else going on in our lives right now.

What are some of your favorites?

"Never been good with my thoughts and even worse with my words, but you read like familiar poetry that I have never heard..." -Sandra McCracken