you dash through the door with wide eyes and arms as you search for me. its the end of a long day. in some way your defenses are down you are choice-less but to show the exact feeling you have at that moment which is "mom, i am so glad to be with you". you stay brave and adapt as long as you can in these days. we hug big because i too am ready for your face and eager for moments with you.

by the time i am laying beside you after prayers i think to myself all that was in the day. it was actually grueling all i required my body to hold that day. i wonder what all you are holding on that frame too. Then you perk up and say, "Excuse me, God, can i please have dreams of rainbows, sugar and beaches? And please no grizzly bears". Amen. And a few seconds later you turn to me and say, "Mom, why is God not a girl?" And I just smile, big, and we talk a little more. Good questions. And beautiful wishes. I love to know how your mind wonders in moments of stillness.

I want to be more like that at the day's end rather than thinking through the monsters i fought off today as i face more defeat, confusion, and a sense of perpetual lost and found. when do we lose our childlike wonder and when is it exactly that the weight lands on our bodies so much that beds are usually more places for collapse than rest. And i end the day feeling sure that these bodies hold so much in a days time. the way we navigate from play and joy to loss and defeat back to house chores and dinner routines back to sprinkles of connection and belonging to then confusion and longing. oh, in a days time, this frame holds it all.

i wake today knowing this body needs kindness, gentleness, self control, and compassion. i hope i too can see in those around me and be generous as i reflect all that may be asked of their body that day. Then I think, "Excuse me, God, can i please have a day of sunshine, coffee, and kudos?"

"...you have set my feet in a spacious place." Psalm 31:8