Papa makes breakfast on Saturdays.
We scooped the eggs onto plates, passed the sausage.
My Siah claimed the big biscuit in the middle of the pan.
"Can I have syrup on both my halves?"
And that spunky girl... her mouth often gets stuck on repeat...
"I just want jelly on mine. Just jelly. Mama, can I just have jelly on mine? I just want jelly. Only Jelly."
"Got it Reesie," her Papa's sitting right next to her and he hears her, and she hears him, but she keeps on talking anyways.
That little charmer in his highchair at the end of the table, he's squeezing that right hand of his as if milking a cow and grunting in some sort of sing-song fashion; it's the only way he knows how to ask for more of anything. So we all guess and point until we see his stellar smile pop across his face, that's how we know we've found what he's had his eye on.
And that dancing girl... Her snow white skin and those ruby red lips... she sits across and diagonal from me at every meal, three times a day, nearly seven days a week. She talks with her mouth full sometimes, (ok, often :), and she laughs so hard at most meals that she snorts.
This morning she said something about growing up, something about herself being big and moving off the farm.
My Siah turned to me and asked it,
"Mama, are you gonna be sad when we're all gone?"
And then the thing I least expected came flooding over me...
I tried to answer my sweet son's question, but all I could do... was cry.
It was quite on the silly side if you ask me.
And before I even knew what could have possibly come over me, there I was at the breakfast table, crying... actually, more like uncontrollably weeping.
The Cowboy had gotten up to get another cup of coffee from the kitchen and he looked over at me and kinda chuckled,
"Are you really crying?"
The treasures kind of awkwardly giggled, looking at me, then at each other, not really knowing if this was a funny moment or a sad moment...
The truth was, I don't think I was sure either.
This time... these little ones...
I don't wanna miss even one wee little bit of it!
One day this house will be empty of all the noise and the spilled cups, and the squabbles between siblings will be gone. One day I will no longer have to whip up a dozen eggs to feed everyone at the breakfast table.
And one day I'll find myself sitting at that same table, in a quiet house, wishing I had simply soaked more of all this messy joy right up.
One day this house will be empty of all the noise and the spilled cups, and the squabbles between siblings will be gone. One day I will no longer have to whip up a dozen eggs to feed everyone at the breakfast table.
And one day I'll find myself sitting at that same table, in a quiet house, wishing I had simply soaked more of all this messy joy right up.
All these little things, the way she talks with her hands in full swing, the way He lines his food up just right on his plate, how even his meals have to have some kind of visible order to them.
The years will go by and she'll no longer be running around the living room in her Christmas dress and her rainbow heart rain boots, with her pretend hair dryer, prettying-up her great grandmother's soft white hair.
Today my Mother-in-law spent the day in my kitchen, whipping up the most delicious turkey dinner. And although I tried at least a dozen times to offer my help, she graciously gave me a day of rest and family and joy all around instead. (Aren't these really the best kind of gifts to give to one another this season? These gifts of time and grace and rest and joy??? :)
I can't remember the last time I spent a Saturday just sprawled out in a patch of light across my living room floor. The spunky girl laid herself right on top and the dancing girl crawled in close by my side and for a brief moment in time the three of us just laid there.. I could hear My Siah in the background explaining something to his grandpa about Legos and why he chose not to build a top on his new Lego bus.
I saw Great Grandmother playing with the littlest boy out of the corner of my eye. And the grown boys were laughing about something on the couch.
A living room full of family, and laugher, and joy spilling over... there was nothing contrived of extravagant going on, simply contentment in togetherness.
A room full of hope. Hope that even though time keeps moving on, He is able to wake me up to His gracious gift of Now, of here, of this place, with these treasures, in this farmhouse,
And I'm deeply thankful for the mornings at the breakfast table, in the middle of seasons of hope, when He wakes me up enough to see all that He gives, all as grace, all as gift.
Love coming down in the ordinary.
