My granddaughter, laid out on a wide windowsill, blanket over her little body, pretending to sleep. Then came another.
She was sitting on that same wide windowsill, playing with gel type Halloween decorations, and the light from the window illuminated her profile in a way that showed her beauty as she embraced so simply her moments there, looking outside and hearing her own unique voice inside. A voice that said I like this spot and I want to be here.
My second grandchild, Ephram, is due on November 5th. I can't wait to meet him.
My heart feels so full lately I think it might burst.
At the start of 2015 I began a new journal, affectionately calling it My Flight Journal. This year has certainly been one of stops and starts and winged adventures in between challenges and uncertainty.
As I now approach the end of this year, I am getting ready for my final flight out of my former life, a life that was lovely and immense, intense and hard, where my primary roles of being wife and mother beguiled me and took precedence, most of the time, over my own needs.
I have no regrets. Only a heart filled with thanksgiving for what has been, and what will always remain.
Now, like my beloved granddaughter, I lay on the windowsill of my home of 13 years, but only for a little while longer. I have slept more nights here than anywhere else my entire life. And I am preparing to say goodbye.
In preparation, I have been clearing out my basement, sorting and purging, reliving moments of my own as well as of my children. It's sad at times, but mostly a joy.
There are Dale's music books and Amber's vintage fabrics and Josiah's Star Wars toys and Chad's stuffed animals and Rebekah's soccer trophies and Lisa-Noel's lunch box collection. I find myself laughing often as photos or other memorabilia remind me of the fun we have shared here.
Here has been a good place.
Here is the nest my babies flew off from.
And now, so will I.
In a card I wrote to myself back in January 2014, I called this house an unusual dispensation. A divine provision for me to strengthen my wings and believe in my wings. I am grateful more than words can convey for this physical place.
Beloved pets are buried in the back yard. Two now huge lilac bushes, gifts from my kids, will bless the next occupants. I am praying for that next family who will live here.
I've been asked this question a few times...
"Do you know where you are going?"
No. No idea...yet.
But I see and feel Concrete. My feet are on Concrete. Concrete poured in my childhood in the basement of a Mennonite church. Concrete made clear in the form of the Nicene Creed. Recently that has been the topic of our Adult Forum class at church. I love how Dr. Paul, our teacher, shared that it is often out of our murky human circumstances that something beautiful arises.
Concrete that gives me the surest foundation imaginable, and is never dependent on a physical place.
It seems ironic to talk about concrete and flight together, doesn't it? But the paradox is true. That concrete has enabled me to lift off with my wings whenever I needed to. For example:
My wings helped me reduce a tax debt from 2012 with the IRS by several hundred dollars.
My wings enabled me to provide health insurance for me and my three youngest children.
My wings helped me find a new car after mine was totaled in an accident in July. Not ironically my new car, a spiffy little black 2007 Mazda3, has as its symbol Wings!
My wings gave me courage in two courtroom situations, to plead my case- and win.
My Wings give me inner vision and crystal clear direction. The concrete enables me to stand firm.
From that concrete I will use my wings to fly to my new nest in 2016. A new season of my life begins, and my single prayer is only that God will continue to use me to share that love bursting forth from my heart..
I appreciate your prayers as I prepare for lift-off!
I wrote this poem September 28, 2015, and wanted to share it here. The words are also written below.
The wind blows, cool and crisp
rustling my long brown hair
its tendrils flying high
with colorful leaves
as I traverse the bank of the river
Pieces of sky.
Henny Penny- the sky is falling
Don't you see it on your head?
The hawk lands
I feel his talons
dig into my skull
electrifying my scalp
He stays. Perched. Ready.
My neck strains with his weight.
River's rushing waters call,
"Go deeper. Go deeper. Don't wait!"
The hawk sees it, exactly.
He flies up, taking clumps of my hair
until he chooses the right moment
and the correct angle
cleanly piercing the surface
of the water.
He astounds me. I gasp with pure delight!
Back up he flies
the water dripping from his wings
like tears upon my face
My hands are ready, cupped.
He drops his treasure.
I catch it.
One smooth black stone.