The nest.

{The Younger Years }

-The 757 B gals my first year at ISU-

Last night, Stacy kissed her last little darling goodbye. They unloaded every shirt, every piece of jewelry, every pair of the highest heeled shoes (that girl has many a pair, I tell you what). They unpacked boxes, opened new bedroom sheets and organized a collegiate backpack (of sorts). Then all was done.

Megan has found herself in a new chapter, in a new town. And of quite a sudden, so much has changed.

When Stacy returns home to her empty nest, she will feel the same.

Change certainly comes to us all, everywhere. We embrace or we struggle. It still comes.

Five years ago today, I leapt into a new life, myself. And oh, how it was bravely out of character for me. How it saved me. And though I couldn’t have possibly known then, it opened up eternity. For me.

This town did that for me and because of that, my feelings for it are tender. And we remain here, Jared and I. We love our home here. And that love grows deep within our hearts.

I held Morgan in a heap last night as he slept. I brushed his cheek with my lips. That child is beautiful to me. And my, how he grows. Every single day. His little body is now heavy in my arms, his hair is long and curls around his ears and at the curve of his small neck. I sit and nod my head in disbelief at how, so soon, he will be ten months old and then, so soon, he will be one. And how I remember so blatantly clear how my stomach held him within me, how it seems not so long ago.

Last night, late, we sat around the table and I asked Stacy if she knew Megan would be their last. She answered, then I asked more. I asked if she was saddened a little, as Megan grew inside of her, as she birthed her, then as she watched her grow, thinking of the physical completion of creating her family. She was.

I spoke of how, even at the heightened discomfort of pregnancy, being overdue, then the wave of unceasing pain, I felt sad to be ending the process of that physical creation: pregnancy. And how I took comfort in knowing that God (and my body) be willing, we could create again. And again, if our hearts and arms would be open to it, if we desired it.

I thought of growth – physical, spiritual. I thought of time – the concept of time, and how our hearts don’t accept time really at all. Truly that must come from our heavenly nature, and is eternal. And someday, we will all be perfect and together again, and time nor distance can part us – any of us.

I thought of how the very essence of spirit knows no bounds, and how someday, we will no longer feel longing or sadness, or fear (of sorts) at new beginnings.

Oh, those new beginnings. The changes. Autumn (how perfect and symbolic is all of God’s timing– always). The circular motion that ebbs and tides. Goes, comes back.

Repeats.

The leaving of home.

And in time,

the returning.

{December 26th, 2008}

I’m sitting here typing away as Morgan sleeps in his crib. For some reason, he had a hard time drifting off this morning. When I’d pass his room down the hall, he’d reach for me with his darling hands outstretched. What a beloved sight to behold. A sight that makes my heart swell each time I see it. Those reaching arms – how I love them.

Each time I’d pass, I would stop. I would kiss him and sing him a verse, and tuck his blanket in around his arms.

I wished him the sweetest dreams, whispered to and hushed him, until, at last, he closed his sky-blue eyes and went softly to sleep.
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Last night we folded up the co-sleeper for the last time and packed it away in the closet. It won’t be tucked against that bed of ours again until we have a new baby to lay in it. I’ve known this. I’ve thought about it. It makes me flutter. It brings tears to my eyes.

I know that Morgan will never be so very close to me, his mother, as he has been for the last eight months.

Where has that time gone?

He grows with each passing day. He is beautiful to me. I would swear that this blog is only about Morgan and about Jared, but they are all things good in this life of mine. They move me. Life with the both of them is heaven here in this little home of ours.
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Jared brushed away tears of mine last night. And as I tried to sleep, I wondered to myself what it is about the growth of a child that breaks a mother’s heart. I would swear that my biggest struggle is appreciating this very moment, right now, as it passes. Instead I look forward, onward, sometimes wishing the day away. Why is that?

I so enjoy watching the milestones Morgan reaches. I celebrate them. I clap for him and make silly faces and pull him close. I kiss him. It brings me perfect joy watching him grow.

It brings me tears, too. And feelings I can’t seem to truly comprehend. New feelings that have come into my heart only after I entered parenthood, but not just that. Motherhood – gentle, nurturing, beautiful motherhood - motherhood that has brought to me feelings without words, teaching me new things all days – teaching me that it’s okay to know, to comprehend only some things - to be able to put to words only portions of your heart.

Teaching me to feel other things too. Beautiful, hushed things too sacred for words.
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What words and feelings do say to me is that motherhood is not earthly. It is eternal. So are the feelings in my heart. And the one thing that I am grateful for is a Father in heaven who understands. A Father who has intended for me to experience what I am experiencing. A Father who watches over me and my family, and keeps us near. A Father who understands what tearful joy entails. A Father that doesn’t need words – yet knows my heart.

My heart.

More pictures of Morgan's new trick: