The Dad, The Daughter, and The Depend-able Airman

I originally posted this story on Facebook, then decided it was too fun not to chronicle here as well. Family stories should be...passed on. 


Once upon a time a young airman was dating our daughter. We'd all gathered for her dad's birthday and, no doubt, had a grand time. Later that night, Dad headed to bed only to find a surprise gift nestled in front of his pillow...a 12-pack of Depends. So hilarious! 

Well played, young airman.

A few months later, while Airman was out of town, Dad talked Daughter into letting him set up a little payback. With painstaking care and devious creativity, Dad hid every single pair of whitey-not-so-tighties all over his apartment...and truck. For months after his return, young airman would find plastic puffy pants wedged in the oddest places...his guitar case, ski boot, zipped into a flight suit... Nothing's quite as fun as a prank that keeps on pranking. "Touché!"

That was seven years ago. Airman is now Captain and married to Daughter.

Today a package arrived from the couple addressed to Dad. Considering they've been in the throes of packing and moving, we had no idea what it could be. As Dad ripped open the parcel, what to his wondering eyes should appear...but nearly a dozen tightly packed pink Depends. 

Hahaha! Dad could hardly stop laughing.

Well played, Captain. Well played. All I can add is...

To be continued.

Hope On Display

Sometimes the ache on the inside 

steals my breath

and grinds my insides

Really? Again? 

Can't this - peopling - ever be simple?

Will hope always be 

mired in muck

always grasping and gasping

for life?


Hope


It is truth!  

Not all this 

...other stuff 

that reeks of death 

and cheerlessness

expectation 

and failure


How long, oh Lord?

And why so hard?

I hate this place...


Yet on these days 

smiles and jestings flow 

Like grace

they save me

bathe me 

in refreshment

and laughter breathing


On these days 

I'll make you laugh

Life force on display

for you 

...for me

For no matter how breath-less   

I will see grace 

I must


Come what may

...and it is here again...

hope will breathe

grace ever-flowing

It's origin far upstream

where no eye has seen

no ear has heard

and no mind has imagined

the goodness prepared 

by Him who is all good


He holds me tightly

...always has

In Him

hope never disappoints

Into this parched

discouraged 

stubborn heart

He will pour love


again


And while I wait

I'll fight

with light and laughter

...hope on display

The smile that hides the battle

but battles on

unquenchable


For hope will have the last laugh

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined

the things that God has prepared for those who love him.
~1 Corinthians 2:9

 Therefore, since we have been declared righteous by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in the hope of God’s glory. Not only this, but we also rejoice in sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance, character, and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

~Romans 5:1-5

To Be or Not To Be?

The list clamors in my head, "Do this first! No, this! You should! You must!"

I can't bear all this yelling.

Despite some maturity, I still hate conflict. And today, mind curls into fetal position that cries, "Enough! Just care for me! I am not what I do!"

Is this weakness? Laziness?
I don't know.

Is it real need for real rest?
I have no idea.

But it is today.

I do not thrive on dos and shoulds and musts. I never have. I am so out of place in this world of dos. My skin never fits it's demands.

Take me to a quiet place where doing is paced. Tasks, patient. A place alive with listening, watching, knowing. Let me feel and write. My best doing is in being.

I wish it were enough.

Yet, each day has been apportioned for me...

Is my weariness mere rebellion?

So often this battle finds me. Outer reality meeting inward frame. Most days we compromise. I muster courage. Stuff down inner voice and do...stuff.

Yet I always wonder: Is there a place to be in this world of doing? Do I only earn my being by doing? Is joy and breath and fresh air only for those who get their stuff done? 

And even as I rise from pondering, knowing I will do today, resigned soul clamors back it's parting shot,

"To be or not to be? That is the question."

Perhaps it's the voice of Eden lost that keeps me ever longing. An inner knowing that I was made for rest. For knowing and being known.

One day all that was lost will be restored. Until that day I soldier on, by His breath and in His strength, wresting quiet from the truth that one day I will be free...to be.  

Trespassing Darkness

Oh, the thoughts I do not write out loud

The thoughts concealed from others

yet not wholly hidden

The ones weighed heavy

discontent

threatening breath and life


How I'd love to will them away

but no

It doesn't happen that way

I wish it did

It's a lazy desperation

while mired in imaginings

standing as shadow over this heart


Darkness and shadow...


Yes, sometimes I venture there

staying far too long

Roots fingering down

demanding vindication

lengthening oppression

These are not friendly roots

The shadow unsafe

I know this well


For truth stands vigilant

when mind cries vigilante

Truth stands still

and stills my heart

Stills roots that seek

to bind in stealth

...make bitter


How despised, this place I choose to go

These thoughts that trespass holiness

For in them I trespass darkness...

another's kingdom


I have no haven here

On War: Aching For My Sisters

As I sought a moment of quiet this morning, I opened my Bible to the beginning of Paul's first letter to Timothy. Pondering slowly and deliberately, I was interrupted by the dancing eyes of my sweet granddaughter who had sidled up next to me for a nose kiss and a giggle. As she ran off for a new adventure I returned to my reading. 

In stark contrast to the scene that had just unfolded before me, the text soon turned to thoughts of lawbreakers, rebels, and murderers and my mind turned to today's headlines of horrid persecutions by the group ISIS in Iraq. In that moment I chose to let the horror of it all touch the deep places of my mind and heart. 

Lord, have mercy...

...for even as I revel in the nearness of children and grandchildren today, my heart breaks for the mothers and grandmothers, sisters and aunties who are suffering, fleeing, being raped and beaten, seeing their children beheaded and husbands, brothers, fathers murdered. It's unfathomable, yet the reports and gruesome photos bring relentless testimony before me that cannot be ignored. There is no quiet this morning for these families.

Friends, please pray for the Christians and other minorities in Iraq who are suffering these horrendous acts of genocide, that those who might come to their aid would have strength, wisdom and courage, and that the hearts of those intent upon evil would be changed. 

The suffering of war and strife are certainly well beyond the borders of Iraq in so many places, among so many people...and many with no way to defend themselves. Because I am a woman, when I close my eyes I can't help but resonate with the pain and fear of the women, young and old, who ache to protect their children, who cannot escape mob brutality, who are cowering or fleeing in fear even as I linger in the calm of my sun-filled, hope-filled morning, helpless to snatch even one precious sister from harm. And so I pray, and I weep, and I'm reminded once again not to squander the rich blessings of peace.

There are women within my reach who are bound and hurting...hunted and haunted. Lord, where can I ease suffering today? And let me never cease praying for those beyond my reach, for they are never beyond Yours.

Keepin' It Real

Sometimes I don't get a day's worth of work done in a week. 

Other times I get a week's worth of work done in a day...like today. 

How ever life lands, I've often felt weighed in the balance and found wanting...by myself and others. How about you?


As a recovering procrastinator, I've spent most of my life with a non-task orientation, given to long stretches of living outside any list, and excelling at general dilly dallying, but one can't entirely muzzle one's pesky firstborn responsibility gene forever. 

Speaking of which, I often dream of retiring from being firstborn. 

Then again, I often dream of retiring from adulthood. 

In a particularly whiny moment I began an email to my siblings offering one of them first dibs on firstborn before I posted the job and hired from the outside. Well, of course I deleted it before hitting send once I'd vented and re-dedicated my life to wearing big girl pants. 

Sigh...

Am I conflicted? Yes. Daily. 

Do I often wish that I was someone else? Someone more efficient and driven? Yes. 
Yes I do. 

Do I know that comparison is a joy killer? Only too well. 

I've spent a lifetime working new habits into my life; ways of doing things that work for me. They streamline as often as they trick me into accomplishing more. (Tricking yourself into getting things done is good practice for parenting.) I manage my time and my life way better than my 20-something self and, truth be told, there are many grownup tasks that I've learned to enjoy or at least not lose sleep over.   

But through those same precious decades I've also wasted a lot of energy comparing myself to other women who are stronger, faster, and able leap tall buildings in a single bound. You know the ones I mean. Those other women. They look like Super-women and surely if I only tried harder I could be super too. 

You been there?

Yeah...I go there way too quickly. But I'm learning. One thing I see clearly is that I love my jeans and cozy cardigans way too much to trade them in for spandex and a cape. I am me, not [various unnamed women I admire] and at two score and twelve, I need to choose more wisely between investing and wasting...energy, time, thought, breath.

Life is too short. Besides, I rather enjoy my kid-at-heart tendencies, even when they're clumsily tripping over my inner-firstborn.

It seems I may be finally growing into my thumb print of a life and it's about time. There's no one else like me...or you. We're all one of a kind with a one of a kind purpose. (Ephesians 2:10) And don't even think about declaring any thumb wars on me.  
I probably already think you're way beyond cool and I've got no time for girl drama. 

I'm not the strongest or the fastest, but who's comparing? (smile) I may not be able to leap over a pile of shoes in a single bound, but somehow when the dust settles there's still coffee and prayer and clean laundry and laughter and writing and groceries and reading and weeding and taxiing and friends and dates and chores and, most of the time, there's dinner. 

Bottom line, somehow it all works out...even with a little extra dilly in my dally.


My favorite goals are hard to quantify anyway: Live each day as a worshiper of God. 
Be thankful, prone to love, and just a little wiser than the day before.  

#lifeaccounting #keepinitreal

Knees Bent

Do you have anyone in your life who seems to just be able to read you? The one who, no matter how "fine" you answer the "how are you?" question, squints her soul-eyes and digs a little deeper. 

"How are you really? ... What's going on?"

I have such a friend. She has been God's gift to me the past few years whenever I've attempted to move through life with my purposely evasive "happy face." Though I know better, I still find myself hiding behind a veneer at times. 

In loving and wise response, the Lord sent me a precious friend with compassionate and probing eyes - that truly sparkle when she smiles - to prod me out of my laminate life when I least expect it. 

I've come to recognize that seeing me is His gifting in her, therefore I now trust being seen. And I've learned to love this about her and about our encounters. So as we caught up via text today and planned a coffee date, something I shared struck me at a deeper level. 

Let me back up a little... 

Last night around dinner time the buzz on my phone came with the tell-tale question: "How are you?" Not able to respond till this morning, I started "thumbing" this reply and was caught up short even as I texted:

"I'm doing fine. Still finding my sea legs with life's changes and finding that knees bent..." 

Wait... Hmm... I continued: 

"...knees bent is more than just a way to not lose your balance." 

Knees bent. I picture this posture when I remember endless volleyball drills in high school. Being at the ready...prepared to move to the ball in any direction. I see this stance when I imagine a surfer absorbing the movement of a wave or a sailor remaining aright in choppy seas, thus the term sea legs. 

But even as I texted knees bent, my mind flashed to someone kneeling at prayer. "On bended knee..." Such an iconic image. This is what stopped me mid-text. The Lord spoke in that flash of a thought: 

"You will keep your balance as you come to Me with knees bent...in prayer. I am your sea legs." Selah was certainly implied.


So, now I'm resting awhile upon this thought. Mulling it. And sharing it...

If life is knocking you around, friend...bend your knees. 
If all is dizzying uncertainty...bend your knees.
Bound by sin? Bend your knees. 
Too exhausted to stand? Don't. Fall to your knees...fall in His arms. 

But must I kneel to pray? 

While kneeling is a wonderful prayer posture, it is not the only way to pray. To me, kneeling is often more of a heart posture. Come in humility. Bow your heart. Come as you are and where you are: standing at your sink full of dishes or in the refuge of the shower, sitting in traffic or in the quiet blessing of morning or late evening hours. Mid-day. Mid-text...

Jesus beckons, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." So come to Him with heart bowed, hands open in surrender... 

"I can't do this."

And as you lean into Him, He'll whisper, "I know. But I can... I will."

The words of of the Lord in Isaiah 30:15 ring true to me again today as they have so many times before, "In repentance and rest you will be saved, 
                                            In quietness and trust is your strength."  

Prayer. Knees bent... Come to Him in prayer. Often and always. Breathe in life and grace, strength and comfort. Then stand and find your balance in Him.

*       *       *       *       *       *       * 

Thank you sweet "how are you?" friend, and thank you, Jesus, for sisters who are Your hands and feet to draw me out from my veneer and back to You...to vulnerability and truth.

Now I come, with knees bent...

One Mother's Day

When your daughter lives some two thousand miles away in the lovely state of Arkansas, it's quite a bonus to get to spend a holiday together. This May, I enjoyed two such special days: my birthday and today... 

Mother's Day.

Here to meet my newest grandson, goof off with the other littles, and make myself as useful to Mommy and Daddy as possible, I've enjoyed giggles, songfests, poopy diapers, sticky hands, laundry, dishes, sleep deprived nights, lots of coffee, Thai food, Chick-fil-A, my first taste of hushpuppies, several episodes of Jake and the Pirates, a few HGTV marathons, and some fun outings with my girl and the fam. 

So as I lived this Mother's Day with her and her passel o' young'uns, I found myself a bit awestruck amidst the ruckus - and sort of chuckled inside - to think that this had been my life just a couple of decades ago. And, somehow, I had survived it all (and the teen years) to become Grammadette to these three and two more in Oregon. Holy smokes! God is good. Truly. There's no way I made it through without Him. And the times I tried? Well, I won't get into that today.  

I've often thought that the greeting "Happy Mother's Day," while lovely in it's sentiment, places an onus of expectation on a random day, filled with all the ordinary things that must and will happen in the life of a mother. Motherhood is a journey, full of the happy and the hard and the calendar doesn't determine the order and duration of either. 

Today, after a fitful start and a few actual fits, the afternoon gave way to an unscripted, though much hoped for, peace-filled naptime. In simple terms: all the littles actually slept. Given this gift, I finally sat down to put some thoughts together for my daughter. 

If you are or have been the mom of little ones, this may resonate...

Dearest Jillian...Spending this Mother's Day with you in the chaos of today - when mom of two kids is still finding balance as mom of three - pokes at deeply filed memories. On this day when oldest was being ridiculously willful and disobedient, while middle boy treated your commands as white noise to his single-minded toddler pursuits, and new one fussed instead of eating then spit back half upon clean sheets and showered body...on this day I'm reminded of the stretching. Body still stretched from new birth, mind stretched toward wits end, and emotions close to snapping. Gah! ... The stretching!

It seems trite today to wish you a "happy" Mother's Day. So I honor your journey, encourage your faith, marvel at your persistence, and am warmed by your heart to love and raise your children well.

And I'm thrilled that you are now fast asleep on the sofa. A quiet victory on such a day, and a lovely way to celebrate. 

Love you so,
Mom

Good Friday

When your need for Jesus' sacrifice on your behalf 
is so evident that you can hardly get your stiff neck 
to turn to the cross...that's Good Friday. 
That's today. 

Oh mercy... 

Sometimes grace is unbearable... 
"Be gone! Leave me to my death!" 
But it remains...
The weight of offered forgiveness 
pressing upon cold heart,
Pressing, pressing, again and again, 
seventy times seven...it perseveres...
Repentance.

Reviving...

Gasp of breath, flood of life. 
Again I breath,
again give thanks. 

How can I bear up, 
stand stiff, under Your grace,
oh God...
when the weight of cross and blood atonement, 
in the face of my stain, bends 
and woos most stubborn heart? 
How can I? 
Why would I?

Oh God...your mercy.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

Good Friday...

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. ~Roman's 5:8

Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord ~Acts 3:19


"A thousand times I've failed
Still your mercy remains
Should I stumble again
Still I'm caught in your grace
Everlasting, your light will shine when all else fades
Never ending, your glory goes beyond all fame." 

     ~From The Inside Out, Hillsong United

Sorting the Pile

So many days are not tidy.

So many circumstances just won’t be tidied, not any time soon, anyway.

Part of me is ok with unattended piles and those metaphorical dishes left undone, but there is another side that wants order…punctuation, as in, tidy periods that cross things off the list. Essay-like seasons with beginnings, middles and ends. Complete sentences. Unlike that last one, or this one.  They're only fragments made to look tidy by punctuation, not ideal, but real. Isn’t this how I think and how I often speak?

Now I’ve jumped from housework to grammar with no clever transition…

This, too, is life.

The pace is dizzying. No time for grammar or syntax or clever, just a constant pace of ideas, events, and emotions flashing past at paralyzing speed. And because all disciplines tend to intersect, science brings inertia to bear. When I feel that sudden inability to move amidst the rush, a twenty-three car pileup of thought comes crashing from behind.

Today is pileup day.

It happens.

I could have ignored the pile, but somehow saying what is has helped sort it out. I know the pile or the pace does not define me, yet I sometimes trip or get run over. 

A friend of mine spoke truth today…declared what is, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding…” (Proverbs 3:5) and she added much encouragement. This passage in Proverbs, a well-worn road in my heart and mind, continues, “In all your ways acknowledge Him and he will direct your path.” 

Praying what is. This, too, helped me sort the pile.

Truth does that.

Heart-squeeze

Holding Ellena tightly I whispered, “If I hid you in my purse and brought you home, do you think Mommy and Daddy would notice?”

“What?” Daddy had overheard, so I confessed my scheming. As we all laughed I told them they needed to have lots more kids so if one accidentally went missing when we left for home they might not notice right away.

Sigh…I loathe goodbyes.

How do I hold my newborn grandson on the morning of our departure without a huge heart-squeeze of tears?

I’m pretty sure that tear ducts are mysteriously connected to our hearts by some unseen pathway. Biology may say otherwise, but I reside in the world of what is seen and unseen and tears are often what speak in the overflow of my heart. Wet words that cannot be spoken for sometimes words are just not deep or high or wide enough.

So I savored making Little Missy her breakfast this morning, sitting next to her with mine, and had no trouble maneuvering my spoon with one hand as precious bundle of boy lay cradled in the other arm.

No trouble but the tears.

Then, snuggled next to my daughter after watching her do the same with her dad, my heart rested next to hers in a long sigh. So many words spoken in that time of not speaking…surely the well sprang up, though we hid it just a bit longer.

I have often tried not to cry in front of my kids as we hug, pray, give thanks, and hug again in those goodbye moments. I’m not sure why. To make it easier for them…or for me? Regardless, the puddled eyes and sniffs are inevitable no matter my intentions. It’s that heart-squeeze thing, I suppose.

Today as we held one another in one last circle of prayer, I sensed the words unsaid; the pouring out of hearts that was surely heard as clearly by our heavenly Father...perhaps more clearly.  

For He was, is, and always will be. Taught this as a child, I embrace it with whole heart and mind. He knew me before I was ever formed in my mother’s womb, just as He did little Charlie. He knows all my days, including this one, and has already provided comfort for it, promising to never leave me nor forsake me. As precious as my children are to me, so much more am I to Him.

I can’t hide my heart from my Father like I sometimes hide behind words not spoken or tears held back. I’m so glad of this. For, truly, I need a safe place to rest my heart…especially today.

Thank you, Father. I feel your arms holding me…holding my heart together.

Charlie lay sleeping where I’d gently laid him just moments before. Caressing his cheek one last time, tears threatening yet again, I picked up my bags and walked out the door. Another long embrace with my daughter - “I love you” - and I crossed the street to the car. It’s a small street, but that walk from curb to curb seemed endless. As we drove off, there was Daddy, tender-eyed, holding Sweet Pea as she opened and closed her little “bye bye” hand, with Mommy standing by his side…letting the tears flow.

And, finally, so did I.


*       *       *       *       *       *       *


I am reminded of a much beloved song. Truth that brings comfort and rest:

He Knows My Name
Tommy Walker

I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in His hands

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call

I have a Father
He calls me His own
He'll never leave me
No matter where I roam

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

Here's what filled our hearts for the squeezing: Blessings From Medford and Overdue.

Overdue

Kids always keep us on our toes, don't they? Little Charlie surely decided to keep us guessing and finally made his entrance a week overdue. I'll never get over the miracle of birth, and your child's child is like a double miracle.

But a baby was not the only thing overdue here in Medford. If your grands live far from you, you'll understand.

As grandparents we've enjoyed varied monikers over the years, some given us by our sweet grands, others by circumstance. We are Gramps and Grammadette to our spunky southern princess, Cadence, and her lively brother Desmond.

And our little Sweet Pea in southern Oregon? 

Well, to Miss Ellena, who understands everything but has been slower to enunciate, we are Gah and GahGah. But since I've been here, I've made a game out of getting her to say Grammadette. 

"Ellena, say Graa-maa-DETTE!" To which she responds with her pixy grin and adorable transposition, "Daah GAH! Daah GAH!" Back and forth we volley... because it makes her giggle. 

At the end of the day, I don't care what she calls me...as long as she calls me. If I end up being Gramma GahGah or just GahGah, that'll just make me giggle. I certainly don't aspire to any kind of Gaga-like fame, though I do have my own share of ridiculous antics...

But, seriously, my one hope in her regard is a place of love and permanence in her heart. That's fame enough for me.

For all these precious long-distance kiddos, I refer to myself as Flat Screen Gramma. Macbook to Macbook is how we've bridged the miles. Skype is our friend. 

I love my grandkids to pieces, but I confess I will never entirely love being Flat Screen Gramma. Gramps and I make the most of our flat screen status playing games like peek a boo, goofing with the sock monkeys, singing songs, and pulling out our repertoire of silly sounds and faces. It's all great fun, but being here reminds me of all the long overdue hugs, kisses and heart to heart snuggle time.

In light of this, watching Gramps gain instant "favored status" with Ellena upon his arrival the other day was as good for my soul as it was his. Even as I write, she is clamoring for his lap as we all share the comfy sofa. I've been demoted to second fiddle and that's ok with me. Gramps has far fewer shares in real-time skymiles and snuggles.

Witnessing his first cuddles with newborn Charlie was a precious milestone, as well. Photo op time, for sure. And as he gazed lovingly upon his sleepy-eyed grandson, we couldn't help but comment on their matching dastardly cowlicks.

"Really?" he said.

"Totally!"

Looking down again he sighed, "Sorry, Charlie." 

It's so good to be here. Coffee outings, conversations, walks in the sun. Watching our "kids" continue to grow as parents. Giggles and snuggles, lots of singing with Sweet Pea. Memorizing little Charlie's face while willing him to memorize mine. Filling our hearts with as many cuddles as possible till it's time to go.


Time to go...

It will come all to soon. It always does.

But in the meantime, there's Ellena...leaned in, tucked under Gramps' arm watching Aristocats.

Sigh....

We're soaking up these overdue moments.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

For two more "snapshots" of this overdue visit see Blessings From Medford and Heart-squeeze.

Blessings From Medford

Some days I forget to see God's blessings. Do you? 

Blessings are always there, beckoning quietly. They live in fleeting sun breaks, in a tiny child's voice painting stories with endless imagination, and in the words, "Thank you, love." They live in bare winter trees with spring hidden deep as well as in the first golden smiles of daffodils. Even the patter of rain all day belies the grey as it harkens every shade of green to breathe again. Sometimes life brings even more obvious beauty, yet, still, I can breeze by with my lists and my one hundred clamoring thoughts.

Until today... 

Ironically, it happened as I struggled to bring mascara to lashes that would not come into focus no matter how I strained these grandmother's eyes. (Putting on makeup by memory? Another musing for another day.) As the blur brought an inward smile, I found clarity. My mind's eye gathered scattered blessings.

I’ve been hotel-ing on my daughter’s sofa here in Medford for the past week and a half waiting for baby number two to arrive. Suitcase living and being far from home and routine can bring it's own kind of blur: new surroundings, adjusting my life to theirs, late nights of conversation or board games, going with the flow, remaining, basically and happily, without a plan of my own. And as we all daily wonder if "today" will be the day, all lists are held loosely. Yet woven throughout the days of waiting, sacred moments are everywhere. 

And this morning a blessing did come very quietly... 

As I lay snoozing in tucked sheet and fleece, my dream-state sensed a small presence. Groggy and bleary, I opened my eyes to the sweetest angel face: strawberry curls, eyes, wide-set puddles of blue, sucking two fingers while the other tiny hand reached out to “boop” my nose. What a precious "good morning." 

Pulling her up with me I closed my eyes again and, reveling in my frequent Skyping Gramma dream, enjoyed her nearness, her warmth, even just the sound of her breathing.  

Once sated with snuggles and kisses, she toddled off to help Daddy prepare a pan of blueberry muffin deliciousness. With perfect view into the kitchen, I took in that precious father/daughter moment seeing much more than measuring and mixing. That was love, right there, and deep blessing being cultivated into the heart of a father and a daughter. A sacred moment. 

And then he brewed fresh coffee. 

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

For more on Medford see Overdue and Heart-squeeze.