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7.2.20 Spills

It feels like lifetimes pass with each day. We had a chance to be away last week. My kids buried my husband in the sand. We ate more birthday cake, we laughed, we took a week away from our home. This was the first week off together since Thanksgiving.

Coming back was hard. Landing back at home to unpack all the stuff, do the laundry, and face a reentry into the long days of parenting in pandemic. How wonderful to get away. How challenging to return to the ongoing uncertainties–especially as we look out to fall schooling.

And so, we’ve muddled through this week. Today was full of spills. First, the tiny beads by my son bouncing all over the kitchen floor. I was first miffed by his desire to re-sort them all, but gave in. There was something about the control of being able to put each little thing in its place that turned out to be appealing!

There were later the goldfish that fell all over the porch. And there was the tumbling of cups of water. And there was my frustrations that kept spilling over–especially when I was trying to have phone calls and my kids became particularly attention-seeking. I lost track of how many times my son announced: “I’m hungry!” today.

It seems that so much felt empty. Maybe he could sense the depletion in me, and that made it all the more pressing that he would want to be filled. And so we ate upteen snacks. And we got out the sprinkler and let it saturate into the dry patches of grass and hearts.

And there were the bright spots this week. The car parade at my daughter’s school as we celebrated the official end of her year. Creating Thurgood Marshall Airport on the driveway. Putting together planes that zoomed across the yard. Mixing together fake snow.

And the gift of taking the kids by the church where new signs are posted.

While I can’t say I feel fully filled, I can feel the grace of looking up with hope into a newly dressed window. I can tap into last week’s renewal and recall the waves that made my son belly laugh. I can give thanks that it is not up to me to hold everything all together. It is one bead at a time finding its place. It is one plane a day coming in for a chalky landing on our driveway. It is the knowing that we can be enough for one another for now. And I am thankful for all those on the other side of the phone, and letters, and Zoom who are our heart fillers.

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Rev. Claire Matheny View All

Pastor | Kittamaqundi Community Church | Columbia, Maryland

One thought on “7.2.20 Spills Leave a comment

  1. I hope some day I will be able to fly into Thurgood Marshall Airport.

    Some insect(s) have been eating the sunflower, beet and radish leaves. There are moments I feel eaten too.

    God bless you Claire as wife, mother, pastor, friend and light. I’m ecstatic about your dream with Jim Lawson.

    Out of this I want the sleeping white church to awaken and be part of a momentous revival, unlike the ones of my childhood.

    I hold you and your enlightened peers in my prayers for safety, vision and engagement. I’m with you. Carol Elise

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

    Like

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