|Belin, four and a half-Rosie eighteen months|
- Welcome To My Blog
- Who writes this stuff?
- 20 Quiet Minutes
- The Healing Womb
- Minucha B'Lev - Resting in the Heart
- Inspiring Blogs and Websites
- Gratitude Quilt
- A River Of Stones
- Offerings: Spiritual Direction*Creativity Coaching*
- Gratitude for Comments
- Counting the Omer
- Social Action
Friday, February 18, 2011
Reflecting on the Sacred-Ordinary
I read these thoughts at Trains, Tutus and Tea Time, earlier this week: "And I feel myself falling into the dailiness. The chores and motherhood and marriage. And faith.” These words woke up ghostly window reflections into the past for me; the feeling of being caught and lost in the daily-ness when my kids were small. (Not all the time, we had lots of love and fun...but if you were/are a parent, you may have had similar thoughts and feelings from time to time.) I would wonder about the repetitive, mundane nature of my life, as I cleaned up the table, counters and floors for the billionth time in a day, stickiness everywhere, cheerios mocking me from corners. I’d trip over toys in my young mother brain-fog, they seemed to make a daily pilgrimage, a trail of dolls, chunky-board-books, blocks, dress-up shoes, fairy wings, tutus and yes trains, winding through the few rooms of our tiny, two bedroom condo ending in a reverential altar of toddler joy, beneath our circular café table in the closet-sized, sunny kitchen. Exhausted from my little one fussing through the night and waking early (I was not a lover of sunrise at that time in my life) faced with my "big girl," all blue eyes, blond curls and endless curiosity she was armed with an on-slaught of insightful run-on-sentences that began with “Momma, why? How come? When? What if?”...Accompanied by my own silent query to God "Is this IT?”
And for a long time that WAS it... well it felt long and tedious THEN...but now my little girls are rapidly approaching adulthood. At seventeen and fourteen, in hindsight, it seems only a short while has passed, and it is precisely the daily-ness I crave and delight in.
Our routines that have been disrupted and simplified in the past two years since I’ve gotten so much sicker, feel more like sacred rituals than ordinary minutia. The way the girls greet me in my bedroom after school to share the "stories” of their day. Taking a damp paper towel to the sink basin to remove the toothpaste that no one else seems to see. Even the sharp, irritating sound of the alarm clock and the "Sorry Mom," as the light switches on in a mad search for socks from the ‘common sock basket’ (that has lived in Mom & Dad’s bedroom forever), while I'm meditating in the formerly darkened room… all of this feels holy to me.
Each moment a blessing as it quietly evaporates. It is these sacred-ordinary exchanges and observations I cherish, and must relinquish to memory, one by one; old photographs, the only proof of what is now gone, except for the sweet, sticky-finger residue that I never want to wipe away from the kitchen table of my heart.
Thank you Corinne for stirring sweet memories and inspiring this post:)