0 comments | published by Linda | October 28, 2012
I had decided it wouldn't happen to me. I suppose it was more than a decision, it was a fact. Being seven, I figured growing old only happened to people who weren't kids. I looked the same. My hands were soft, my skin was without a mark. I thought it strange to watch how others seemed to let themselves become old. Certainly wouldn't be ahead for me.

I'm still me. The same conversations play out in my mind, I still get scared, happy, hurt, insecure and silly. Just like before, I have the heart of a little girl.

When I became a mom I had this goal of becoming like those mom's who wrote the books, led the seminars, or wrote the songs. This was what I wanted, to become that mom who was able to help show their kids how to walk alongside their Lord. They knew how to love, laugh, discipline, teach, and sacrifice with joy. I was in the trenches as I worked day by day to master motherhood. I remember envying other mothers that had the same title as me, yet didn't spend their days sacrificing for their children.

There is this season of motherhood where more time is spent changing diapers, brushing off carseats, and managing little attitudes. When in the middle of this season, it seems never ending. I knew, at the age of 24 that growing old only happened to people who didn't have kids. Seemed perfectly possible that I would be chiseling cheerios off the floor for the next fifty years.

When did I buy the last diaper? Whatever happened to running the house while carrying a baby? Where did the little one go that daily sat in my kitchen emptying my cupboards? Why is there room for my purse to sit in the seat of a shopping cart? When did my now five year old stop wearing infant clothes? Most importantly, who are these best friends of mine that surround me through the days? How is it that these beautiful girls have the same laughter I had when I was their age? When did that little boys voice that used to cry out needing me, turn into a deep voice that checks to see if I need anything?

I was taught early on that the season of spring is a time of planting, and working in the field. I was also told that fall would come, and my harvest would be determined by what was planted and nurtured in the spring. I wasn't warned of the depth of blessing that would come if I remained faithful.

I now have this group of six who sit by me in church, tenderly love me, and make me laugh constantly. God was not kidding. The blessings are beyond comprehension.

My hands are now different. My face shows the many times I have laughed and cried. My looks are changing, evidence of a life well lived. I am growing richer with each passing day. When springtime planting comes slowly to a close, the only problem I have now, is being able to see these crops of abundance through my tears of joy.

Posted in Living Room, Powder Room, Attic    |   Tags: Crops of Abundance
0 comments | published by Linda | May 06, 2012
He thinks I'm silly. Maybe it's true. Once I have scrubbed, vacuumed, dusted, and even picked up the smashed  blueberries that everyone has pretended not to see, I want the world to stop. I want that moment where I can feel its all perfect, clean and complete. I know this moment is short as it doesn't take long for my people to drop popcorn on the floor, spread their shoes across the room and mess up my pillows on the sofa.

Carpet angels. That's all I ask for. I request that he take my little people out in order for me to smell the Pinesol and make carpet angels on my carpet that still shows the vacuum lines.

Is there a chance I have lost sight of what matters? Have I forgotten who this is all about? I admit it. I like clean, probably more than most. Yet, if I notice my eyes are looking for perfection, I will most definitely not notice the people that matter to me most. My people are messy. Once I clean the room, they suddenly decide that's where they want to be. The open spaces must call to them for Legos, dolls, and yes, dirty socks.

As I watch them fill the house with friends, toys, and crazy, I remember that this is where my eyes should be. Once my eyes are not focused on the petty messes, and what this explosion of toys might mean for me, I can return to loving them

I work to provide a home for them where they can truly live it up. When on the sofa, or building castles on the carpet, they are actually drinking in my presence, finding joy in me. I can smile as I know this is everything I work for, and it is good.

Like my dinner table set with flowers, polka dot napkins and colorful plates, it's not perfect until there has been laughter, pots are emptied, plates made messy, crumbs scattered and napkins crumpled on the floor. This is perfect. 

When I look at their faces as they transform the living room into a play land, the carpet lines disappear, but are replaced by my angels.
Posted in Kitchen & Dining, Living Room    |   Tags: Carpet Angels