Another beautiful dawn. I am a fortunate soul to be able to sit up in bed and look out at the plum blush of the morning, and as the heavens colour up with warmth, I am somehow renewed again in that light. Yesterday was my birthday, and it was one of my favourite kinds of days. A simple one. It involved the mundane routines of caring for my littlies, folding and washing, meal making and working out. There was no sense during the day at all of missing something, of waiting for something to happen because it struck me quite early on, as I sat up and watched the dawn over the rim of my tea mug, that this was exactly the sort of day that I would miss if for some reason I could no longer do what I usually do. I'm quick to wriggle against the demands of being a stay at home mum but the sensation washed over me so strongly, that if I could not be who I am to my little family, my heart would be broken. If my hands could not smooth and fold their clothes and roll their little socks into balls; if I could not make hot chocolates, afternoon tea and nourishing dinners; if I could not keep the floors clean of crumbs and dirt; if I could not bath them and comb the tangles from their hair; if I could not push a trolley of good food out of a store and into a waiting pantry; if I could not tell stories, download their music, hear their chatter; if I could not wipe their faces, dry their tears, or kiss them at night; if I was frozen somehow and my arms could not lift them, my lap could not hold them, nor my voice not respond to them, I would be sorrowful to the deepest part of my soul. This ritual of motherhood holds more comfort, value and worth than anything I could possibly imagine doing and of that, yesterday bought much clarity. Throughout the whole ordinary day, I felt extra-ordinary. My normal blessings no longer felt so normal, they felt extravagant. The lifestyle I was tempted to feel weary of began to glow like the sky - dawn happens over and over and over and over again - yet still it is each time a miracle of monstrous proportions. Each rising sun brings newness and order and my eyes are open and watching it. Each rising sun holds warmth, colour and life, predictability and certainty and the essence of beauty without which all would stay dark. How great is this gift of life?

In saying all of this, my closest and dearest friend has stood for the last two days in quiet vigil at the bedside of her father as he journeyed out of this life. This morning, at dawn, he was gone.

How great is this gift of life?

As for man, his days are like grass;
As a flower of the field, so he flourishes.
Psalm 103.15

GB  – (May 1, 2009 at 1:34 PM)  

Wow, what a beautiful post. I often need to remind myself of the true gift it is to be a stay-at-home mum.
Happy birthday for yesterday.....and my deepest condolences for your friend.

Simoney  – (May 1, 2009 at 2:49 PM)  

Wonderful post Amy. You have a way with words and have put it all so truely and eloquently.
Happy Birthday for yesterday! luv Simone xxx

Anonymous –   – (May 1, 2009 at 3:24 PM)  

You made me cry. Again.
This may sound so trite... but your words... are those of a psalmist. Let that sink in before you shrug it off.

Thank you for your comment, your kind words and your prayers for lil ol me.


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