Hands against rib cage,
Darkness and momma's swoosh of oxygen,
And then light and first cry and piercing light
And I learn what it means to live.
I wonder if I was ever scared
To leave the comfort of the womb?
Year one, year two, year three,
The batteries in the wall clock make the
Machine tick and tick and I?
Life whirls past me and in me.
And Baby I smile.
Year four, year five, year six,
And school and adventures,
And tears. And No's. And yes, them spankings.
Year seven, year eight, year nine.
New school within this span of time.
New faces, translation, friends.
New places, translation, home.
And I learn what it means to struggle
With first crushes and that one stubborn button.
My worries are small to you big people.
But little people worries are just as gigantic.
Life can be proportional, you know?
Year ten, year eleven, year twelve,
Elementary school wrapped itself up in
Field trips and memories and report cards.
In book reports and addition and musicals.
And the summers seamed up the years,
Bible school, swimming lessons, sweet pea chains.
Year thirteen, year fourteen,
Junior high is crippling.
Peers were always better, the sky
Always too far away.
But I knew how to dream.
Year fifteen . . .
Hands clenching a circular wheel
That turns two other circular wheels,
That turns a massive machine,
And I'm petrified.
And 40 is a big number in a little car.
And life becomes a little more shaky,
I wrestle with it.
That wheel is gripped in more confidence now,
Surprise party, learning to reach out and
And threaded through, You are.
Your love endures forever.
Your hands painted the sunsets
That left me breathless
And punctured the sky to let in light
That made me cry,
And cry glory.
You were the faithful, the One thing I knew
When I myself was changing.
Not so far away.
Light rays amidst dark shadows.
You felt so distant. I felt so disconnected
From the One that I thought I knew.
And then I learned.
Forgiveness, healing, heartbeat,
Beauty and grace, and I am unaware
Of the most extravagant of Your intentions.
Heart ache and healing.
And new year sings a melody,
And unknown to me is what its arms hold.
But I know that my future is threaded
So on to the chance of more heartache,
more Loving, more being loved,
More sunrises, more sabotaging of an ordered life,
More songs and laughter and color,
More peace and joy,
More photographs and friendships
Filled streams of paper,
More poetry and family and boardgames,
More sun-basking and children loving and skipping,
More tears and messy rooms and messy life,
And life will be lived in a river,
And at the end is You, Jesus.
At the end of life is Life.
The profound mystery of my existence.
Of never-ending child.