Love Never Fails

I tend to be the type who believes wholeheartedly that my cup is half full if not overflowing.  Life is to be cherished, celebrated, savored, and appreciated - Drink it down, shout it out, and be thankful and joyful every day.  It’s important to love those who are with us and to celebrate the lives that touched us.  However in the past week I realized that I have been without a mother for a quarter of my life, and for the first time in years, I was rattled.  Instead of being the one to rev my father into some positive spin about why Mom would be furious that he’s mourning this date; I shared his space.   Hi, my name is Jennifer, and 7 years ago today my mom died. 

If it wasn’t for her life, I would not be an ounce of who I truly am; she poured her talents and passions into me, moulding the core of me.  And because of our conversations prior to her death, I gained the fire to fight for a child.  My child. OUR child.  I appreciate everyday that she lit the match.  

And since her death, I find myself stripped and vulnerable at times, raw in the moment.  Several years ago at church I was reading 1 Corinthians 13 in front of the congregation, and it hit - the wave of vulnerability.  I could not control the tears flowing down my face while I progressed through the verses; all because I understood the depth of her love in a way that I had never comprehended before.  

Oh Mom.  I love you.  I forever cherish that last puckered kiss that we shared. And I love that I see glimmers of you in my dearest Alexandra - the roundness of her cheeks, the crooked smile that emerges at a moment of sheer happiness.  Alexandra knows that she can't see you, but believes that connecting with you is as simple as calling you on the phone. Oh how I wish.  So instead we talk.  A lot.  We talk about you and how you would love her and what you would teach her.  She wants to know every detail, every story again and again.  She’s soaking you in, don’t you know? And now it’s only fitting that I end this post with Corinthians because I know that love never fails.

1 If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
 4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
 8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
 13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Hooky

A few weeks ago, I played hooky from work in order to spend a quality day of goofing-off with my dear friend Shannon at the Maryland Zoo.  The timing was perfect: a) It was my first day in weeks to walk away from work without the overwhelming pressure of deadlines, b) I was given free admission tickets by my local Managing Partner, and c) God gave us a day full of sun, blue skies, mild temperatures and space to run wild.  

Nate is growing up so fast.  He's no longer a baby, but a partner in crime.  Alex enjoys the shift.

::The zoo is full of the obvious, but it's a pleasure to see the excitement through a child's eyes.  There's a fascination of watching your child timidly feed a giraffe some lettuce, observe a baby elephant lumber around, or yell at the polar bears in hopes of waking them up.  It fills you with joy and pride.

And somehow, the smallest inhabitants of the zoo, the frogs, left the two of them speechless.

I will admit that I have a fondness for the primates, which must be a result of spending days of my childhood at The Philadelphia Zoo (they still have the most amazing primate section!).

:: Discovery comes in all sizes.  A pinecone catches Nate's attention in the petting zoo.

My friend Christina and I recently agreed that we feel more aware of life, more grateful of the changing seasons, & appreciative of simple blessings since bearing children.  

As if the clarity and brightness on each picture of life is sharper and bolder.  

My heart is thankful every day for this journey.

Flutterby

Today was Alex's first day at preschool.

She was excited, and carefully chose her outfit: twirly dress, flower tights, & well-loved Dorothy shoes.

In a flash, the morning pushed us along and into the car line at school.

And in a moment, she was off.  My butterfly fluttering by.

I cannot lie.  A part of me was excited while the other half welled with tears. But I remember a quote that I saw yesterday that sums up my feelings

"When it rains on your parade, look up rather than down. Without the rain there would be no rainbow." -Gilbert Chesterton

So I'm ending this day with one last stop to her room to kiss and hold the babe who is growing up so fast.

The Pages of My Heart

One part of Alex's daily life revolves around reading and story telling.  The routing started out as a means of settling her down at night, and now has grown to be a part of our relationship, our interaction.  I read.  Ben tells the elaborate stories.  I try to cap it at a few books, but I've been known to read more than 4 if she gives me the look.  And after I finish, Ben and I change positions and he starts the story telling.  And from a distance, I can hear her talking to Ben in her petite voice, "Let's talk about..." or "Daddy, tell me about…" It's awesome to watch them thrive together.


As busy as life can be, I believe that we always should make time to sit together.  Every. Night.  And confirming my belief, I recently saw a story on National news, talking about a father who read to his daughter every night until she left for college. It started it out of his concern that they were growing apart; I believe she was the ripe old age of 6.  Their nightly interaction became an essential part of their lives and honed their relationship - so much that the daughter as a teen chose to continue reading, rearranging her social schedule at times.  As you can imagine, they progressed from chapter books all the way through the Harry Potter series to an amazing selection of classics. You could just see the love as they talked about how their "schtick" flourished with time.  Seriously touching.


The other night on vacation, it was late - beyond 10pm - and Alex insisted that we read.  So we made it through 2 books and I told her that we were all going to sleep.  5 minutes later, she rolls over towards me, sporting a hurtful pout and crying.  Not just a tear.  Oh no, a river of tears followed by uncontrollable sobbing.  And I saw a part of me reflected in her the first time - the silent cryer, the sensitive one - and I knew her reaction was no joke.  I finally coerced her to admit how I upset her, seeing that all I knew was that I hurt her feelings.  "You wouldn't read to me." And the tears flowed again. You would have thought that I verbally attacked her from her level of emotion.  And it all centered around a book and our need to be together. Sleep could wait.


::


Last week (before the current heat wave), Alex and I set out a quilt on the deck, dragged out a throw and a mountain of books, and invited a few of her stuffed "friends" to join us.  The sun was setting and it illuminated the pages with golden light.  After our first book, Alex broke away from our quilt to pick flowers.  If you know her, flower picking is her her daily obsession that mortifies her father and makes her mother glow.  She's my girl. 

Then she kicked off her frog boots, deciding that a boot would be the perfect vase to hold her flowers.

I cannot lie - she did a nice job.  

She was visibly tickled, admiring her work and repeatedly pointed out to me how boo-ooo-dul her flowers are.  Then she sat down and resumed reading. Boo-ooo-dul.  Simply boo-ooo-dul. Gosh, I'll miss that mispronunciation.

Ok, I might be rambling with this post, but I haven't taught Alex to arrange flowers; and instinctually she knows what to do.  I haven't taught her to read, but somehow she knows the importance of that time too.  And it's moments like these when I feel my Mom present. And I am thankful.

"There is a way to live the big of giving thanks in all things. It is this: to give thanks in this one small thing.  The moments will add up." - Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts

Three.

She is three.

It seems that just yesterday she was days old. Oh how I swim in sweetness while time pushes forward.

I will forever be grateful that she's the one who made me a Mama, who taught me to slow down, who made me savor each bite of life even more. 

 The one who will forever be the first.  My angel. My Budda Baby.  My lollipop.  

A belated post to wish my sweet child a happy birthday. I love you more that the sun and the sky, the stars and the moon, and chocolate and cake. xo

What Color is Love?

Sometimes love is pink.  Spinning madly, dancing like no one is watching. 

"Mama, I need Ba-yeah Sippers"

Enjoying the view. Savoring the moment.