i want to open my mouth and not have frustration be it's primary voice.
actually, let's just mute it all together.
just let soak in good,
i want to walk a dusty road, in the half light sunshine, smelling the black berries on the intruding vines, hearing the crickets,
but feeling that this is indeed the day the Lord made.
with a plan and a purpose and ,gosh darn it, joy for my little family.
i want to breath it in.
blowing across my ankles, my flip flops flopping in rhythmic tune with those crickets.
my hair blowing across my shoulders,
an exceptional moment of femininity that i marvel in.
my husband at my side,
navigating the sometimes crazy balancing act that defines hammocks and marriage, and dwell in that perfect place of stability and safety.
then chase my kids.
through the field,
once more stumbling through that ending all choked up as the final little voice joins in.
when Horton's mission is complete,
mine will be so too, as each one of my kids close their eyes on another day,
where mommy was a mommy.
not a cleaner,
not a chef,
not a harried, stressed, i-can't-right-now stranger.
i want to live without regrets.
possibly the most difficult of missions.
see it in my children's. then feel it touch upon my skin.
so drown out my voice and make it a sweet, parched breaking blessing to those around me.
let me be the linen, wrapping gently around.
not too stifling, just enough covering to let breathe.
let me be the aroma, of fresh fruit in full blossom..
an old quilt, a fun game, a truth told kindly story.
arms that fold up a child, way past mama's lap stages but we'll make her fit anyhow...
and the gymnast capable of stilling a swaying hammock.
let me be these things Lord,
and please bring the Sunshine.