I watch as he moves around readying himself for work. Quick-every move efficient and steady even before drinking his coffee. So unlike me-- useless and sluggish before my morning cup.
4:12 am.
He pours his coffee into that travel mug---maybe he'll get to finish it today? Unlikely. I know full well whatever bit of the scalding coffee he can scarf down on the drive to the hospital will be all he'll get.
I hear the beep of the pager as he turns it on.
His day begins.
And that little, black, electronic interrupter won't stop for the next 30?...34?...hours. The little beep that will constantly pull him in the middle of one task, add to that never-ending list of things to do, and won't blessed stop until he can shut it off and sit and eat and sleep a day or more later.
He rarely complains about that though...how can you complain about the calls for the help of the sick and the dying?
He hugs me goodbye and I catch a faint whiff of that Stetson aftershave and miss him already.
I run to the bedroom window and watch as he gets in the car and drives away. The rest of the world is dark and still.
The two little warm bodies that found the middle of our bed in the night sleep peacefully, arms flung above their heads and breathing sweet and slow, oblivious to the stirrings in our little apartment.
I tuck covers closer, breathe kisses on their warm cheeks and vow to do better today. Be more patient. Be present in the moment. Choose joy. Hush the hurried heart. Speak love. Give more hugs.
And I watch those tiny faces and ache that I haven't done that more often. I've yelled and shattered a little heart. I've been rigid and exasperated at little things. I've wished for bedtime just so I can escape the never-ending refrain of "Mama!"
I've butted heads with that little one with curly hair so much like my own. I've cried in the laundry room at the thought of dealing with that strong will one more minute. I've complained about the constant noise and whining.
I've torn down when I should have lifted up. I've expected perfection when I should have gently guided. I have failed them time and time again. Failed those I love most.
I've been irritable and seen the way my words have cut my little tribe. The hopeful questioning of "Cookies?" after dinner last night and my huff and eye roll at the husband and doesn't he know how hard it is to bake his favorite treat with two kids clinging to your feet??
His soft reply of "You seem upset... Is something wrong?"
Exasperation wells. I'm tired- I stay up with the baby all night and deal with a crazy two year old, cook and clean, and I haven't gone to the bathroom alone in two years. My words are hot and stinging.
And the man who stays awake for days on end dealing with life and death situations, and doesn't get a chance to use the restroom in 24 hours time, said nothing but gently hugged me. The one who knows my failures better than anyone, showed his love by looking past the grumbling, and simply held me.
And isn't that the crux of love? REAL love? To die to self and put others first? To not just feel love but to show that love even when one is unlovely. Even when the whining grates, and the milk spills, and the child defies.
I'm good at feeling. I feel a lot and the love I feel for my family runs deep into the core of me and flows hard in my soul. But saying "I love you" doesn't always sink into the heart like the gentle hug after a scrapped knee. Or like ignoring the spilled food on the floor for the moment and instead praising (because who doesn't need a little pat on the back for getting most of the spaghetti into the mouth?) Or the warm cookies waiting after a long, hard day. Or the grace given when bones ache, heart is weary, and exhaustion floods.
This is love.
The sun begins to peek through the windows and those sleeping babes begin to stir and my hands find their soft cheeks. Hope rises like the sun within me and I know that love shines brightest when hands lift to serve and words are gentle in the heated moment.
I see my failures so clearly and hope beyond hope that today I will do better...today I will show love.
And my day begins.
Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue, but with actions and in truth.
This is how we know we belong to the truth,
and how we set our hearts at rest in his presence whenever our hearts condemn us.
1 John 3:18
