I should be sleeping, but man, when there is an opportunity for quiet and introspection, I take it.
I mean, sometimes sleep wins the day. Actually, that happens a lot. But then there are nights like tonight. Times when the quiet of the apartment–the peace that rules while everyone but me is sleeping–draws me in with something even stronger than the ever-present pull of sleep. And that’s saying something.
Not that there’s no peace when everyone’s awake. It’s just a different kind of peace. It’s a loud, unpredictable, my-needs-get-put-on-hold kind of peace. It’s messy and it’s heartwarming, at once. It’s what I’ve dreamt of and it’s exhausting and it’s important and it’s nothing that most people would look twice at. Like, it’s a lot of regular moments that add up into a great big heap that, when magnified, is love. Reading books and taking walks and getting up early and changing diapers and singing songs and feeding and nursing and tickling and laughing and shepherding and watching and praying and simply being together almost all the time.
My days are the pages that tell the story of Mama and Charlee and Luna. Not every word is exciting. There are lots of little words–articles and verbs that aren’t exactly heroic sounding by themselves. But all those sentences strung together–the way they connect to the ones that came before and the way they make way for the ones to come–they’re something else. Something extraordinary. Something about love.
And love is never, ever boring or commonplace.
Nothing amazing has ever happened apart from some kind of relationship.
Even the ocean has a relationship with the moon. We are captivated by relationships, and right now my life is captivated by a few relationships that make up my tribe.
I am busy loving them.
God, I just pray that I do it better than I did yesterday.
I pray this every day.