i caught a glimpse of myself in the window today as i rocked my baby and i looked older than i’ve ever looked, hair tied back, glasses, apron for the baking and all of me, mother. i looked like a mother. and i liked it.

i’ve been missing them lately. my children. and i’m always with them.

but part of me is always somewhere else. and that part of me will never have this time back. these holy moments at home when it’s mama and boys and toys and stories and sometimes, the days seem too long–but never after the fact.

after the fact, i wish for it back, for longer dances and more kisses and soon, they’ll be in school and all i’ll see is their tiny back-packs as they bike with daddy down the road to kindergarten.

and so i’m slowing. in the spirit of the season, i’m pausing, waiting, coaxing the seed out of its shell, the miracle that i so desperately long for: the truth behind the tree and the tinsel and the turkey.

i’m no longer content with nostalgia. i want Christ. and i find him most clearly in the eyes of my children–pupils fresh from heaven.

so i’m spending more time this month looking into their faces. seeing him.

i will still be doing imperfect prose on thursdays once a week until december 21, when i’ll be breaking for two weeks.

i love you friends. but i love my kids more. 🙂 i’ll see you here, wednesday, for imperfect prose. rest hard tonight. e.

I salute you! There is nothing I can give you which you have not, but there is much, that, while I cannot give, you can take. No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in it today. Take Heaven. No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present instant. Take Peace. The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet, within our reach, is joy. Take Joy. And so, at this Christmas time, I greet you, with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away. (Fra Giovanni)