May 1, 2008

Is this really happening?

Ever been in a situation where you wanted so badly to remember every detail, every smell, every nuance of time and place and people, and yet your mind feels numb? As if you’re seeing things and yet not comprehending or absorbing them? You cannot notice or remember or even be present for the moment?

I’m kind of in that spot.

I want to notice, absorb, grasp, cling to every detail. The way Wild Thing smells when I snuggle into his neck. The sweet sound of Ladybug’s voice. Her giggle. His belly laugh. The springy feel of her curly hair when I put my hand on her head. The jab of his clumsy, persistent fingers as he grabs for my eyelashes. How she snuggles into my shoulder, always the left one, for just a minute before laying down for her nap. The sloppy, open-mouthed kisses of Wild Thing, and the way he chortles triumphantly when he gets his hands on one of his sister’s toys. Ladybug’s mixture of real and made-up lyrics to songs, and the cute way she mispronounces words.

I cannot bear this. These are my children. And they are so, so young. I try to think, to imagine, what they will be. How they will be. Because I won’t be here to see it. So I live it out in my mind instead. Milestones that I will miss. Like Lovebug on her first day of school. I can imagine her standing to the side, with her new backpack and her lunchbox, quiet and reserved, watching everything, making her assessments before jumping in. And Wild Thing, he’s still so small, still developing his personality. So fiercely independent one moment, then clinging to my leg and begging to be in my arms the next. He needs his Mama. They both do.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

May your mercy come quickly to meet us, for we are in desperate need. Help us, O God our Savior, for the glory of your name, deliver us and forgive our sins for your name’s sake. Psalm 79:8, 9

I cry aloud to the Lord; I lift up my voice to the LORD for mercy. I pour out my complaint before him; before him I tell my trouble. When my spirit grows faint within me, it is you who know my way. In the path where I walk men have hidden a snare for me. Look to my right and see; no one is concerned for me. I have no refuge; no one cares for my life. I cry to you, O LORD; I say, "You are my refuge, my portion in the land of the living." Listen to my cry, for I am in desperate need; rescue me from those who pursue me, for they are too strong for me. Set me free from my prison, that I may praise your name. Then the righteous will gather about me because of your goodness to me. Psalm 142

Desperation, we are acquainted.

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