The night before I got married, my maid of honor (Pat’s daughter) and I shared my twin bed after a long day of moving furniture, books, and kitchen gear to my soon-to-be new home. A twin bed and about 84 pounds of blankets. The next morning, she gave me a card. I couldn’t find that card now if my children’s lives depended on it, but I do remember the words. I always remember words. Something about friendship, something about marriage, a blessing… and then, in essence, this:
“Know that every time you tossed and turned last night, every time my hand landed on your shoulder, every time- I was praying for you. For peace, for strength, for joy.”
•
Sometimes, Ry’s anxiety swells to hysteria. These episodes are always worse when we are tired. Or, say, perhaps, when we are camping with 12 other family members and it’s light until 10pm. She begs me not to leave her in the tent to fall asleep. She begs me to lie with her. She begs me to be a better mother. It is close to spinning dangerously out of control… so I leave. I zip the tent shut and walk away. Down the trail, around the corner, away.
And, out of nowhere, I see Steph’s handwriting on that wedding card so many years ago.
When I return, I pull up my camp chair to the (sobbing) tent and silently press my hand against the fabric. The sobbing turns to sniffling as a little hand instinctively matches mine on the other side of the canvas.
And I pray for my Rylie. For peace, for strength, for joy.
•
I wash Gus Man’s feet tonight. I do it to calm him down. I do it to erase the mud, sand, and grease he has collected since dinner. I do it to send him to bed cleaner, but I quickly find myself on holy ground… right there at the kitchen sink, with a little boy and his double-fists of matchbox cars.
And I pray for my Gideon. In-between toes and bubbles, I pray. For peace, for strength, for joy.
•
Abby June is sleeping next to me. I watch her back rise and fall with the easy breaths of a carefree infant. I place my hand on her back and I smile. I know this is a moment… just one quick, simple moment. She breathes, up and down.
And I pray for my Abby June. For peace, for strength, for joy.
Maybe, just maybe,
I am learning another way to pray.
To touch.
July 12th, 2012 at 8:06 am
Reading this I thought, What do you know: This is why we’re here in the flesh. Moments like the ones you describe, and, to touch. Amen.
July 12th, 2012 at 10:56 am
Perfection.
July 12th, 2012 at 11:46 am
Love this, KatieKate. What powerful imagery. What a mighty prayer to pray over anyone.
July 12th, 2012 at 12:09 pm
Rocked my soul… like you always do.
July 12th, 2012 at 12:18 pm
I remember that night…we were exhausted. You were restless. I did pray. I sneak in to Isaac’s room every night before I go to bed and do the same. I lay my hand on him, kiss his check, and say a simple prayer. I love this and I feel empty if I don’t do it. It’s so much better when you are toughing and looking in to that peaceful, dreaming face. I do it now with my unborn daughter…lay my hand on my stomach, and pray for her to grow strong and healthy in mind, body, and spirit. Even so…I should do this more often with all the other people in my life…especially Keith. I love you friend!!!!
July 12th, 2012 at 1:50 pm
Because that’s it, isn’t it? It’s the answer when we don’t have the answer. It’s the prayer when we don’t have the words. Boy, I needed this reminder today. My words aren’t doing a whole lotta good around here, and I don’t even know if I believe them. But touch? It’s all there. It’s the offering. Beautiful, as always.
July 12th, 2012 at 9:25 pm
That is beautiful. Thank you.
July 12th, 2012 at 9:33 pm
Again, you have moved me with your words and inspired me to be a better mother and a better person. I love you, Friend!
July 16th, 2012 at 11:51 am
This is so moving, and those words on a card from your friend years ago still resonate. Isn’t that what God wants to give all of us?
July 31st, 2012 at 2:09 pm
Yes, yes, yes. It’s everything.