Timeline

I read the daily updates of the teams of bloggers going to Guatemala and to Haiti, my lungs burning as I forgot to breath.

My arms seemed so empty without the weight of carrying those babies, without holding the whole world up to my breast.  I yearned to be with them. To be hands of love to the weary.

I rocked to-and-fro in my chair virtually consoling the victims of poverty while questioning myself if in fact I had fallen victim to the poverty of spirit.  What am I doing that is of help?  My belly burned for more.

~~

A week later I joined a circle of children around a small table, my knees pressed hard against the edge of the table as we mapped out timelines of their six years of life.

They include the birthday parties, the big trips, and first days of school.

And yet, the stories they had to tell bore more gravity for the construction paper background that their truth was laid plain on.

Notching their timeline was a depth of grief that I've never held beneath my skin.

Epitaphs bled out in Crayola marker -
"The day Mama died" -
and a six-year-olds depiction of her mama in her coffin.

The way this girl looked up at me seeking, smiling, asking if I liked her picture.
What more could I do but force my lips upwards to match hers?
Surely if she was brave enough to face this grief, I was brave enough to let her see her own beauty.

When I asked her to add to her timeline a favorite memory, a favorite trip...
something special just the two of them did that she could add to her timeline,

she paused.
Lifting one hand to her hair, she twirled it as she spoke;

"I loved the way my Mama would brush my hair."


That night a new notch was added to my timeline too, written down
as the night my eyes were unbound to missions I didn't always remember to see.
My true impact and outreach.



Returning home, I combed my fingers through my sleeping daughter's hair;







Wondering if I were gone, would she miss it too?

Would she miss the way I called her little bird each morning, holding her warm just plucked from slumber body close to me?

Would she miss our dance parties that happen whenever a song made us itch to be set free?













Would my son miss our laying out, watching his electronic solar system turn, as we told tall-tales in the dark?

Would he miss the nuzzle of his earlobes? Would anyone else remember to tell him they are the softest place on earth?

Would he miss my presence sitting beside him as he processed life and heart lessons?










Perhaps this season on my timeline doesn't have my reach far and wide.
Perhaps, for tonight my timeline includes loving two children instead of a mountain side.
Perhaps the time will come for far flung arms, but for tonight I will keep them tight around those I've been given keep.

While my mission may be in the mundane, so often love is too.

I will mark this season down as,
Home.

{sharing with Jen, Heather, emily}