Bigger Picture Moments: Things That Grow

I'm clinging to a small fixation right now: the speed of growth despite my lack of granted permission.  I've been clinging here before, during certain phases of life, yes.  But it hides dormant for whole swaths of time.  Days and months go by before I remember what I don't want to think about.

There is some impetus, as usual, that prompts its return.  This time...

Knowing that I'm carrying a tiny baby boy under my heart is making me both jubilant and reflective.  I realize, all of a sudden, that the girls I have before me are no longer babies.  No more are they wrapped in candy-colored blankets, nor do they wear ruffles on their diapered behinds.  They might as well be grown, says my mother-of-baby-girls mentality.

But they are not grown.  They are just different than they were before, with lengthier sizes and new personalities.  Soon, they'll have new job titles: big sisters to a little brother.  Or something more streamlined, perhaps -- something that actually attaches a boy's name to that title. 

The thing is, I don't know them as such.  It's easy to believe that it will all fit just fine when the day comes. (After all, I am a person who jumps in before learning how to swim; I expect things to be new-normal if imperfect.)  But until then, I allow myself plenty of wallowing. 

They are growing, as they should.  And it makes me long for a pause.  A stretching of time, so I can gather them in well enough that I may never forget how perfect everything is right now. 

The swing of tangled, dark brown hair, as the head and body it belongs to races away down a grassy hill. 

The glow of rosy cheek and pucker of rose-bud lips in a face that still boasts of innocence. 

The twinkle of laughter that bubbles over and around the simplest of silly moments. 

The ease of comfort -- a blankie; a hug; a quiet talk; a kiss -- when emotions run over or pain is inflicted.

The wrap of arms around neck, legs around torso, bottom on hip, that feels perfectly comfortable despite the thirty-pound heft.

It's all so good and lovely and right, and I feel like it's slipping through my fingers.  Just...if I can remember what will fill my palms when the wisps of childhood are all sifted through.  But these are things I can't yet know.  Futures will fill my palms.  Hazy, shifting, tempting -- the world will be different because of the people my children are becoming.  I cannot see it. 

But I can imagine it, by appreciating the way things grow.  Tall, ancient things --

Colorful, skillful things --

Delicate, bursting things --

They grow.  They change.  They shelter or intensify or adorn, and they are gifts, surely. 

So here I am, loving the things that grow.  And trying to love the caress as they slip through my fingers, filling my palms with memories.

We're seeing the Bigger Picture through simple moments -- moments that force us to stop and take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful. Please join us today at Hyacynth's place! Grab the button, link up and then go forth and encourage the two people before you while they are walking this journey of intentional living.