So, yesterday my boys were tiny terrors when I picked them up from VBS, three full days away and it was showing. I brought them all home, and worked, tired to feed them and put them down, my body drained. Once down, I came out, and Maria, who had seen me, used that time and emptied the dish washer and cleaned up the kitchen. I was just–just shocked, and felt young, like this little, vulnerable gratitude to this child, my child.
“Maria…” I said, the sparkling kitchen feeling like a hug, “thank you…” I told her, looking at the kitchen, not finding words. She had seen me, and really, always does. “Of course mama. I care about you, and I care about daddy and I love you, so I like helping you.” I hugged this child who smiled and grinned, and went out to ride a bike. When I heard Elijah not sleeping, I felt the strength to go in, and hold him until he was sleeping, and we both fell asleep, like a new infant and mother would. The gift of love, given to me from Maria, washing me fresh, now seeping new onto the baby. Life can be difficult and beautiful, but sometimes beautiful can only be born from the soil of difficulty and struggle, love seeping into the cracks.