Finding Halcyon
A few days inside the life I still can’t believe is mine.
I wanted to pack the book for my trip. It’s a hardcover, it didn’t fit in my computer bag. Instead, I packed the prayer in my heart that I’d read from it the morning of my trip. It’s a most beautiful book, lent to me by a friend. I don’t remember the prayer, only the title of the book, and—according to God’s good plan and purpose—I’ve been living it every day since.
Every Moment Holy…
I’m in Winchester with my son Charlie and his family—and our new grandson, Charlie.
My husband is super conscientious about overstaying a welcome. Now and then he refers to the popular proverb attributed to Benjamin Franklin, “Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days.”
In planning my trips, to be considerate, a question regarding the length of my stay to see my son or sister is usually this, “Do you want to stay four or five days?” There is also the added complexity that we don’t like being apart.
Here I am, sitting in bed with coffee this morning writing to you before anyone else in the house is up. And I’m all weepy because tomorrow—day six of this extra special trip—I leave.
I remember the years when I’d get home late from work, Todd would be “patiently” waiting, or texting, ”What…? Who…? Where am I…?,” I’d pull into the garage, turn off the engine, and in the dark, I’d sit and pray, “Please, God, send my Charlie someone special to love and be loved by….”
But God. Gave him so much more, a whole family… And I just never expected to be so loved, too.Yesterday at this time, I was going through my photos and went a little crazy sharing, just trying to hold on to the moments, I think. Each one—
from watching Elisabeth pick flowers from the tree beside my little writing desk and place them in her daughter Addie’s hair,
to listening to vinyl and sipping wine while watching Charlie and Elisabeth slow dance with Baby Charlie,
to making my favorite beef bourguignon in Great Aunt Wanda’s casserole,
to watching Charlie Bear taste the gravy, like it, and want more…
to taking him in my arms when he’s a little fussy and feeling him fall asleep against my chest…
To sitting on a blanket in the breeze under a blue sky on a perfect day,
to dinner on the deck,
to watching a big class of children listening, following directions, and actually loving it as my grown son teaches them,
to watching my son’s son watching my son…
This is my Halcyon.
What I picked up my pen to write is that which feels like gushing water in my chest, ready to pour out over the brim of my heart onto this paper. So full of love it hurts, I don’t know what to do with it at this early morning hour except try to write—as I see the sparkling eyes, hear the distinctive voices sharing stories and characters I wish I could save on tape, and the steady flow of laughter.
And oh my—
all I can think is, how is this my life?
See?
I weep.
“Mom? Are you awake…?”
“I am. Come on up…”
To this palatial space you’ve given me—to rest my head, to sleep, to write, to read.
To weep…
My son’s head on the pillow beside me—my son whose own son looks so much like he did at six months—listening to his deep voice, marveling at the curls of his hair…
How do I leave tomorrow?
Elisabeth’s voice—mellifluous—calming this frayed and threadbare soul who knows her limits all too well now, but has also learned to see her failures and weaknesses as opportunities for growth. I think they call it “adaptive perfectionism”… as opposed to maladaptive—the kind that paralyzes with fear of failure.
It’s here, in my Halcyon, I can see that I still have a long way to go—
but also how far I’ve come.
I have been given a family who, like the sound of Elisabeth’s voice—soothing as liquid—creates a home that provides warmth and light, the kind that leads to every kind of growth.
It’s a beautiful interweaving of different lives and stories that form a unified whole.
From my divorce and the weight of feeling I failed at marriage, not to mention as a mother, to the years of fearing and longing for my son’s future as a result of my failures… to this week.
I am beyond words.
My heart sings a song of thanksgiving and praise to the only God who is able to keep us falling… who works in and through us to will and to act according to His purpose.
And I can assure you with all confidence—
He uses everything for the good of those who love Him and have been called according to His purpose.
And that’s a most beautiful thing.
So I end this most beautiful time with this little prayer, in Jesus’ precious name:
Day by day, may there be less of us, Lord, and more of You. Amen.
On the road home, my son says,
“You’re my backbone, Mom. A strong one. Juat like Grandpa was… standing up for what you believe in. Pants hanging off your butt.”
See what I mean? I weep
Scripture: Philippians 2:12-13, Romans 8:28, Jude 24-25, John 3:30.
Book: Every Moment Holy by Douglas Kaine McKelvey