Five Minute Friday – Quiet

Lisa-Jo Baker has a blog that I love to read. She has this thing on Fridays – Five Minute Friday.

You guessed it; write for five minutes straight. No editing. No re-do.

Today’s Topic: QUIET

GO

I’m not even sure what ‘quiet’ is anymore. Even when the house is dark and the breathing of the two men in my life has slowed to it’s nighttime rhythm, my spirit isn’t quiet, my mind still rolling, my heart still praying.

It’s rare, these days, to find the quiet, the rest, the solace. So many things to take care of, so many dates on the agenda, and the ‘have-tos’ crowd my life, giving me little space to breathe.

I find it though, in the place that makes me so happy. The place where I am one thing, where I wear one hat.

Mom.

The quiet time, snuggling in his bed after we’ve said our prayers, we talk, we hug, we laugh and it’s perfect. The noise has been shut out and I find that I am falling asleep in his bed, so much easier than my own. I push the things that I should be doing aside, trying not to dwell on them, letting this moment be perfect.

I trace the lines along his face, trying to memorize them-how his eye brows grow exactly like his dad’s, how his nose rounds out just like mine, the freckle just by his temple and his round cheeks that seem to glow out of the shadows.

He won’t be my little boy forever. One day, I won’t have to tell him not to kick the soccer ball in the house or chase the dog through my kitchen. One day, he won’t be there for me to tell him to stop playing Wii and go brush his teeth.

One day, it will be quiet. But not our quiet; not our quiet, snuggling time where he has me all to himself.

And yet, I hope that one day many years from now, life will come full circle. We’ll get our snuggle, quiet time again. He will trace the lines of my wrinkly face, trying to memorize them, drawing up his boyhood memories. He will talk to me. He will tell me our stories. And he will tell me it’s okay for me to go, to find the ultimate quiet, the ultimate peace-safe in the restful arms of my Jesus.

My dearest Corbin, I will love you forever-past the stars and back again. Love, Mom