Cat in My Lap

Cat in my lap
Baby in my belly

Rain in the trees
Tomatoes in the ground

There will come a time
when you need all my
attention, baby, even
more than the tomatoes.

But this morning we sit
breathing in unison,
quiet and content.

April Dedications

I have done this before, dedicated each day to something. It's a way I like to mark the passage of time, especially times when I make gratitude a practice for some reason... like being isolated in our house away from friends and family. But a few days I let get past me with no recollections whatsoever. I know that nothing is lost on the breath of God: not a day here or there, not a month of being in my head, not one single worry.

Wednesday, 1

Thursday, 2
Today is dedicated to Shelby, who told me her birth story, and still has the courage to go through it again.

Friday, 3
Today is dedicated to Pine View Dairy and their wonderful creamline milk.

Saturday, 4
Today is dedicated to all health care workers, including mental health care workers. Our anxieties soar, and you somehow make room to keep doing your job.

Sunday, 5
Today is dedicated to my family: birth, nuclear, extended, in-lawed, outlawed, and Church.

Monday, 6
Today is dedicated to women who have been pregnant before, for any period of time. I love you and respect you and need you to keep telling me it's alright.

Tuesday, 7
Today is dedicated to Isaac, who makes small group a priority and leads with grace.

Wednesday, 8
Today is dedicated to leftovers.

Thursday, 9
Today is dedicated to fresh bread.

Friday, 10
Today is dedicated to our betrayed Lord, who understands darkness.

Saturday, 11


Sunday, 12
Today is dedicated to our risen Lord!

Monday, 13
Today is dedicated to the man I've been married to for precisely nine months.

Tuesday, 14
Today is dedicated to coffee. I bet it still tastes great.

Wednesday, 15
Today is dedicated to this baby growing in me, who causes us to re-think everything and upsets our comforts.

Thursday, 16
Today is dedicated to Maggie, who made our lives extra beautiful for the two weeks she stayed with us.

Friday, 17
Today is dedicated to the student who kept working on the yearbook long after everyone else had lost interest.

Saturday, 18
Today is dedicated to the responsiveness of the earth to cultivation, as shown by the care of my in-laws, whose garden is shaping up to be magnificent.

Sunday, 19
Today is dedicated to the practice of Lectio Divina.

Monday, 20
Today is dedicated to the "Harry Potter and the Sacred Text" podcast.

Tuesday, 21
Today is dedicated to the thousands of children flying thousands of kites from the rooftops of Amman, Jordan.

Wednesday, 22
Today is dedicated to my very thoughtful book club, who so gently shows me my prejudices.

Thursday, 23
Today is dedicated to Murphy's Oil Soap: good for wooden floors.

Friday, 24
Today is dedicated to the winding country roads of Northern Lancaster County.

Saturday, 25
Today is dedicated to grilled hamburgers with tomatoes, onions, and pickles.

Sunday, 26
Today is dedicated to Sabbath rest.

Monday, 27
Today is dedicated to Jim Dale, narrator of the U.S.-English Harry Potter books.

Tuesday, 28
Today is dedicated to acrylic paint and unexpected company.

Wednesday, 29
Today is dedicated to the promise of summer. You hang in the air, waiting to join us, and I can tell you're on your way. 

Thursday, 30
Today is dedicated to the first cup of coffee I have enjoyed in 20 weeks.

Friday, 31
Today is dedicated to ultrasound technicians and OB/GYNs.

Dear Baby,

I'm used to writing about myself, but as a tiny baby, you should know some things about yourself.

First we are really excited to meet you, even nervous. Even though I'm your extroverted parent, and meeting new people is a joy to me, even I have some nerves. Your dad is cool with it.

Second, whatever name you have is a gift from God, because we have really struggled with that process.

Next, we always wanted you.

We didn't plan your timing.

You are growing in a weird time where not very many people will get to hold you and care for you... but so many people love you! You'll see them on video.

Video used to be something we wouldn't allow a baby to watch much, because it's so bad for your eyes and brain. But... people need to see you.

We are so glad you're coming into our lives.

We will enjoy you, help you, grow with you, teach you, and provide for you with all our hearts.

Love,
Your mom

"Why so desolate?" I want the earthworms to ask me

Desolate despite
the company of crickets spiders, cicadas,
thousands of earthworms busily plowing beneath the new grass.

The light rains beckon them upward to take long drinks.
I can tell they are laughing together and generally making merry
at a hundred parties for which I've received no invitation nor hope of one.
Like a king in his castle with not one friend nearby,
surveying the busy populace below, he sighs.

I recognize the rain, invite it as close as the porch roof,
and we are company for each other.

Why desolate, why lonely, God?
When your Spirit ministers close by. Just here, even beside me.

Essentials

What makes sense to me now is being close to you

with all of me,

no reservations
nor walls
nor unforgiveness
nor bitterness
for what you have left unsaid
nor what I have failed to tell you;

we bring just what we have in ourselves,
the essential that begs nothing more than
to be encircled, to encircle—
to be encircled, to encircle—
to climb together, and to rest.

So Little Contained in So Little

I haven't been in touch because I haven't been in touch. I have been in so much contact: with car horns and taxis, expectations and fears, airplanes and security lines. I have not touched ground except when I'm with a few—Jesus, Jake, Carmen, my mom... everyone else is so close, clambering... I am afraid I will get nothing done if I spend a night emailing here and there, because an email gets a response, then we pull out our calendars, and meet and connect, and plan to do it all again at the end...

...and it all feels like hemorrhaging.

I have a little to give, I feel, and I am desperately collecting rocks on the edge of this river, in hopes of creating a reservoir of time, place, things. I cannot. Slow it all down.
I cannot

go back and describe each weekend with Jake        seeing herons on a river
swimming in the quarry to escape the heat
churning ice cream          driving through the greenest places the country has to offer
touching those places
letting it rain
and waiting to catch breath on a mountaintop in Morocco          in West Virginia
hitching a ride
watching the sunset spill pink over a silver river before the blankets were pulled down and the heat settled into the stones' accumulated hearts

and we slept there, in a tent on the ground          mosquitoes without,
the only monsters,         and Time,
to be reckoned with if they got inside to us.

Held close. Closer. Each stone.

Driving to you through the worst storm of my life, the clouds a watercolor above, and gathering from below.
At the end of it all—were your arms around me.

Is gratitude ever a product of fear? I wonder if it can go on, and know what I don't know. Love in its wisdom goes on giving what it has today, hoping its hope and loving its love.

Love, can you understand? Does it matter? Since I will be by your side in the morning.

I have fought myself: my pride and my reticence to be known, my jealousy of moments you had without me—no rewriting allowed—things God himself can't change that happened because they happened.

Oh, Love. Our all is so little contained in so little.

Clothes and Glory

Worthy of my glory uncovered

Holy

Have we

once again

missed the mark?

Defiled the ark. Oh, God.