Sometimes I wonder if I've stepped out of life. If, while I'm at home with my kids, it's going on out there -- somewhere very far away-- without me.
I especially wonder this on rainy mornings (such as today) as I watch my neighbor looking so nice in lipstick and heals pulling away with a travel mug of coffee. In a quiet car. The headlights streaming away. Off to busy places. Important appointments. A whole lot of living.
I watch her drive away and wonder if I've been left behind.
But then I hear singing.
It's a 3 year old's version of the Gloria. And that feels like life.
But still I wonder. Especially when my wallet's bone dry. I wonder if this choice I've made to mother full-time is completely necessary.
But then I hear crying.
It's an earache. A heartache. An ache only a mother can soothe. I respond with a touch that calms the world. And that feels like life.
Even then I wonder if the universe is happening out there while I'm in here, especially when I'm lonely or just plain bored.
But then I hear praying. A child's Our Father -- word for word are words I taught. I clasp his little hand in mine. And that feels like life.
In these moments I realize the living is here. On our play room floor. At the kitchen table. The action. The living. The raising of not merely young bodies but of eternal souls. In these moments, the rest of the world falls away and this child-proof fixer-upper becomes exactly where I want to be.
And that feels like life.