{true colors}
Specks of twinkly fine snow are spittering down from the sky as I type. Morning has just made its entrance with a slow and subtle source of light. Out the beveled glass windows of our front door, I see the rooftop of the barn across the street finding its slippery smooth blanket for this winter day. Jack cat sits atop my lap. Partly because he loves snuggles. Mostly because of the electric blanket throw I am sitting under. It's quiet. Our house is sleeping. Well, you and your little brother are. Along with all the beams and walls decorated with our life stories. Paintings done by you. Drawings too. Pictures of Mommy and Daddy kissing on our wedding day and you and Casey in your hoodies outside on the day we bought our home. Local art from craft fairs and antiques handed down. They all slumber with you. My 2nd cup of coffee sits beside me steaming. Strong, its substance is just one of my morning wake up calls. I pray, Eli. In the morning. Before feet hit the floor and toothbrushes are wetted. And it's important for you to know that you, sweet sleeping boy, are a part of my handing up & over to our heavenly Father.
My prayers aren't fancy. They find their soul through my heart. My words aren't always best or the most profound either. Spelling and grammar do not count when you talk to Him. I read His word. I write. I reprimand Jack cat for trying to gnaw on my pencil top as I jot notes. You know how he likes to do. I swirl and doodle my dreams to Him. I sometimes cry and I always give thanks. I circle hopes. I touch worries. And I hand them over, sweet boy. Sometimes, it's a reluctant handing over. I'm human, you know. But, I give them over anyway. I know that my best can never move mountains. That, at my finest, I've never made sky or trees or tiny baby toes or cancer healed. So with coffee in my flawed hands, I reach to Him in the sleeping times of my family. Sometimes I look through pictures and pray over them. I remind myself of the memory of that time. I study the images and thank Him for what I can see.
The image above. I've prayed over it for the past 3 days. I've touched the computer screen leaving smudge marks with my fingerprints. On you. This image has me captivated. I come back to it each morning. You are a full-on 8 year old in this photo. Not quite 8 1/2 yet. It was taken this past summer at the local city pool. I was the one behind the lens. You were there with your good buddies, Brody & Cooper, and your Casey face, of course. On this day, I watched all of you. Swim in delight with the summer sunshine. Splashing. Laughing. Kicking & climbing ladders too. Like velcro, smiles stuck to all of us.
I snapped the above image as you were coming off the diving board. I loved watching how each of you lined up to take turns plummeting into the sparkly blue chlorine sea. Eli, you are leaping. With all of your might, you are directional and with purpose. The determination is present; the absolute readiness for take off even more so. This image fills my eyes with tears. You are soaring, sweet boy. I think it's your hands, no wait, your fingers, yes. I see tenacity and conviction even in your fingertips. You have everything in alignment to burst into the water below.
This was the sky above you. Yes, on this day, I was an observer of story. I gathered the data and left the plot collaborating to you and your buds. I find myself moving to this position more and more. It's time that I do. I know. The clouds swirled with a happy madness that day. They gathered up in heaving monstrosities only to shred apart and scatter the very next glance upward. It was if I was listening to a symphony both above and below. You and the boys in the water mirrored the clouds above. To & fro. Together apart. Giggling and full. Sparsely still.
Eli, my fingerprints of prayer have encapsulated you on this day. My heart has been drawn into your image and this beautiful summer memory. That's the power of a picture. It centers you still and seals up the past with the present. The emotion meets you each and every time. Convicted, this is where we grow. Not in pictures, no. But in what we see. Songs hold that same miraculous energy too.
Sweet growing boy, I need you to know there's power in what we see. In what we choose to cast our gaze upon. In the way, we think and the way we dream. Yes, even in what we pray. My prayers encompass you. Daily, they do. And with all my might, I pray that God gives you His sight. Not yours. But His. Mine. And your Dad's too. In what we see in you. For, my Eli Garrett, you were meant to soar.
Transfixed on the beauty of letting go of fear you become directionally masterminded by faith. This is life in color. It's energy and motion and growing right down to your fingertips. There's not one part of you unprepared for the glory of bursting into that crystal clear water beneath you. And that, my son, is just exactly what life is all about. See yourself in color. Vibrant & able. Ready & determined. Hide not in the shadows of doubt.
For don't you remember? This day was a beautiful day. See your world through His lens. See the potential in your brilliant. Believe & let go of fear. And move whole heartedly in one heaving direction of faith. Sweet growing boy, I need you to know there's power in what we see. In what we choose to cast our gaze upon. In the way, we think and the way we dream. Yes, even in what we pray. My prayers encompass you. Daily, they do. And with all my might, I pray that God gives you His sight. Not yours. But His. Mine. And your Dad's too. For, my Eli Garrett, you were meant to soar.
Mama :)
week 1: {my 2 in 52}