Like a Tulip

Her little voice is chirping through speaker of my cell phone. According to the Find my Friends app she is 493 miles away. I listen to her chatter about her day and what she is pondering. There is so much going on in that bright mind.  I can hear the passersby talking on the sidewalk on which she treks daily to school. I wish I were one of them, brushing elbows with my girl. She asks what I am doing and I tell her I am photographing the tulips on my table. I remark to her that they continue to grow in beauty as they age. Even in death they are the picture of elegance. She doesn’t hesitate. “I want to die like a tulip”, she says.  “Oh, me too,” I respond, relishing the thought of it.

Me too.

All of my children were in our home this weekend. I am always taken off guard by the comfort and happiness I feel to see them milling about the house, laughing together, showing each other what they have been working on. I stand in my kitchen and watch them just taking it all in. At night, there is something special about knowing their warmth will fill their childhood beds. I go to sleep at night aware that some are coming in and some are staying out.

I count chickens.

I count blessings.

My heart enlarges again to hold them. I can feel it squeeze and strain as the walls stretch move out further to let them in. I find my place again as the nucleus of our home- the heartbeat that they return to. It is the one place I know my true calling. I am mama. Nothing will ever change that. I bloom and blossom like the tulips, extending and pushing forward as I give all. Yes, I say. Yes, you may have that. Yes, I will fix that. Yes, I will cook and serve and dance and laugh. Yes I will cry and hold and pray and worry–a little.

And yes, I will help you pack. Yes you may leave.

My heart aches and shudders in the spaces that were filled and emptied so quickly. It seems other side of love is grief. And while I would not trade love to shun grief, it still hurts and I cannot pretend to like it. So yes to the empty places. Let them echo and speak of the shapes of my children- the spaces that whisper and remind me to pray for them.

And like the tulip I bloom and strain in worship and count blessings again. I find the face of my father who never leaves me. I let him enlarge my heart knowing he will fill it. And stay.

My Jesus, he is like the tulips. He gave everything- a beautiful perfect life laid down for mine. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you God for teaching me to be a mother.

 

Psalm 91:4 ~”He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection.”