I could sit in stillness near the tree for hours. Staring at it all until my eyes are hazy and everything blurs together into a big silvery-golden haze. The fire cracks and the fan on the wood stove hums behind me, lulling me further into a peaceful contentment. On Friday night she fell asleep on my shoulder (as she often does these days) and I sat there, holding her in the comforting safety of the tree-light, for no less than thirty minutes before I could bring myself to put her down. I later crawled into bed with her, so humbly and heart-breakingly grateful to be able to do so. And then I repeated the same pattern for the next three nights. Breathing her in and snuggling against her as much as I could without waking her. I can't begin to imagine what those dear people in Connecticut are going through right now, but I am holding them in my thoughts and prayers and hoping beyond hope that they are somehow able to find peace and comfort in the days ahead.
a chronicle of our days and half-time efforts at (sub)urban homesteading, musings on parenting, and a whole lot of the mundane, humdrum bits.
12.18.2012
glowing comfort
I could sit in stillness near the tree for hours. Staring at it all until my eyes are hazy and everything blurs together into a big silvery-golden haze. The fire cracks and the fan on the wood stove hums behind me, lulling me further into a peaceful contentment. On Friday night she fell asleep on my shoulder (as she often does these days) and I sat there, holding her in the comforting safety of the tree-light, for no less than thirty minutes before I could bring myself to put her down. I later crawled into bed with her, so humbly and heart-breakingly grateful to be able to do so. And then I repeated the same pattern for the next three nights. Breathing her in and snuggling against her as much as I could without waking her. I can't begin to imagine what those dear people in Connecticut are going through right now, but I am holding them in my thoughts and prayers and hoping beyond hope that they are somehow able to find peace and comfort in the days ahead.
Labels:
family,
from the heart,
holidays,
home,
mindfulness
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Beautifully written, Amanda. As usual. You have this way with words that is so simple, yet so heartfelt. You're an inspiration to many.
ReplyDeleteI can't really "hold" my kids anymore, but I sure did hug them extra tight and caress their little cheeks and rub their backs. I cannot get the families of those kids and all the police, firefighters, first responders and paramedics off my mind. Every time I think of them, I pray...although I have found that I don't have words. I just ask Him to bring comfort to them during this time. More often than not, I just utter the name "Jesus".
I don't know that any of us will ever be the same. I just try to live in each moment...and not take one single one for granted. Sounds like you're doing the same. We have much to be thankful for this year...all of us.
Love you & Merry Christmas to your beautiful family.
Thanks Jen, you are so sweet. I've always been a big journaler, but haven't kept up as much since Claire, so this has become my outlet. My sometimes very-much-more-censored than a journal outlet, but an outlet all the same~
DeleteComfort and peace is really all we can hope for and send their way in whatever ways we can... and like you said, remembering to be grateful and live in the moment, cherishing it.
Merry Christmas to you (all of you!) as well! xoxoxo to you and yours~