Rest. . .

I become the spoon and he the dish
and I lay down my head in deep need of some rest.

The days they all blur in the chaos of life
and I forget to count my blessings instead of the trials and the strife.

It's this laying down of my burdens as I lay down my head
then counting the gifts together as we lay on the bed

And curling up beside the love of my life
and telling him how thankful I am to be his wife.

Oh there are days I am wicked - how I wish I were not.
I yell or I scream and sometimes put him on the spot.

Then the guilt and the condemning voices I hear,
scream like a siren in both of my ears.

But here in the dark curled into his arm,
I remember our vows and I take no alarm.

Then he says them these words that silence the beast-
There is no condemnation - not even the least.

So, I snuggle in closer, the spoon I will be,
but in this marriage bed is not 2, but counting Jesus - there is three.

"Home" - I am utterly speechless

The pitter patter of feet down the hall, I hear him round the corner and patter down the wooden staircase that has aged well considering the many feet that have certainly run up and down her in her lifetime.  This is his first morning on her though and teddy in hand and sucking away at his wrist, (yes he chose his wrist and not his thumb as an infant) like he does only when he sleeps or is scared.  He looks way smaller and younger than he really is in this great big house.  He crawls up on my bed and says he needs to snuggle with Mommy.  I can not resist, I pull him up, pull the covers up and whisper good morning to my sweet three year old boy.  He takes the wrist/thumb out just long enough to say, "Mommy, I miss home." then he pops the wrist/thumb back into his mouth and looks at me with these big, vulnerable eyes.
We moved yesterday and because we are in full time service through a Christian organization and as a result serve abroad, we are not strangers to traveling or friends moving here and moving there.  We, as a family, in fact, have to travel quite a bit considering the ages and stages of our young family.  But in this little guys lifetime, we have always come "home" to the house we lived in until just yesterday.  The home we shared so many happy memories in, the home we brought him home to straight from United family hospital 2 days after he was born.  He has always had this same place as his reference for home - and he misses it on this first morning and to be honest, I do to.  I miss the familiarity of it, the way I had learned the sounds and smells and flaws of it, I miss how his feet sounded on the wood floors when he came in to great me every morning.  I miss the familiar lay out and knowing where all of my things were and weren't.  As I lay here and can hear the house waking up,  I miss how my older sons lego's sounded when they hit the carpeted floor every morning.  I miss the way parts of the old house would trigger fun memories of family dance parties and slow Saturday mornings, wii contests, birthday parties and Christmas mornings.  But as I snuggle this sweet little guy and wallow a bit in the sadness of exchanging a home we enjoyed for this place we hope becomes a home to us - he pops his wrist/thumb out just long enough to speak into my mixture of grief and hope, "but I always have you. . . And Daddy. . . And Abby. . . And Hudson. . ." he pops his wrist/thumb back in temporarily.  Just as my eyes become moist with emotion at his realizing the very  presence, love and familiarity of family, the memories and warmth that comes from that is not contained within the walls of any building or structure,  he pops that wrist /thumb out as if it were a lollipop and says, "and poop. I can poop in both houses - and in this one I can poop upstairs and I can poop downstairs." I am stunned.  True.  This is true.  Maybe this will be one of those first memories you never forget in a new place and  yet somehow I am utterly speechless.