In whatsoever state I am.

{The Sleepier Days}

December 7th, 2008

Last Wednesday, I called up S. Kappas and we took our darlings to Chilies for an afternoon out. It had been too long. My, my, how our darlings have grown.

They sat side by side in high chairs, dangling their legs and eating off our plates.

We ordered Turkey sandwiches and lemon water. Note to self (and everyone else): don’t order turkey sandwiches at Chilies. Yuck.

We talked about school (she started back up this fall). We talked about new vehicles (you should see her very-new-very-chic dusty gray Tahoe! Oh my!). We talked about how our babies will soon be one.

One year old.

Takes my breath away to think of it.

Sara and I became mommies together. Sara and I delivered our newborns one week apart. Monday, November 3rd. Monday, November 10th. Both babies born in the same town. In the same hospital. We have shared stories about our experiences, the births of our firstborns. We’ve talked about nursing (which never ended up working for either of us). Naptimes. Sleep routines. Then rolling over, crawling, walking (for mea). Teeth. Baby clothing. Carseats. We’ve shopped together. Found steal-of-a-deal bargains together. Shared recipes. Shared leftovers. Shared craft ideas.

For me (anti-social/borderline unfriendly), Sara has been my one friend. And Mea has been Morgan's.

As we sat there at Chilies, chatting away, chatting above the chatter of our babies, two elderly women walked by our table and stopped to “oooh” and “ahhh”.

Babies draw all near.

One of the women said to the other, “Can you remember back to all of this?”

The other said, “Oh, yes, I’m so glad it’s past!”

I felt my nose wrinkle as a looked at Sara, then I quickly recovered, hoping the women didn’t notice.

While I am always being reminded by dear Mister Keller about patience and tolerance, and not being easily offended, it was offensive.

As I thought about it later on, it became less offensive, and more sad.

I felt sad for the woman who, in her elderly retrospect, felt that way about the days and years she raised her children.

I wondered to myself: how could anyone wish these days away? What is more precious? I know it’s challenging. I know it’s exhausting. I’m right in the middle of it. I know.

But, what on earth, or in heaven, is more rewarding? More sweet? More satisfying?

And what comes after children? A quiet home? A clean home? A nicer car? More money? Down time? Afternoon naps?

It sounds nice. But if I were there at that point, I believe I would look longingly upon days like these. I would want back in my home the laughter of my child - tubby time - nights spent in the rocking chair – washing bottles, picking up toys, cooking, cleaning. Doing it all over again.

I do these things because I care for and am depended upon by another. When your entire self is focused on serving, it becomes rewarding – heart-melting, really. When I ask for kisses, Morgan gives them. In the morning time, when sleep still lingers in my body, Morgan reaches over the side of his bassinet and pats my face with his tiny hands. When Jared comes home, Morgan becomes giddy, which, in return, makes my heart entirely full, as if nothing else in the world matters at all.

All of this is my happiness in life (and hereafter, too). And isn’t it all about being content right here, right now?

I so desire to live and live well - without regrets - though I know there will be some. I want to look upon days that are past, stages that are past, and have tender feelings about each one. So, when the time comes, in the far off distant future, when Sara and I find ourselves with white hair and wrinkles, we won’t exchange the same sort of words.

I hope to never be glad these times have passed.

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Not that I speak in respect of want:

for I have learned that in whatsoever state I am,

therewith to be contact.

Phillipians 4:11