my laptop is overheating and it just shuts off every couple of minutes … i never thought i would make an ice pack for a laptop. yet here i am, draped over the couch, surrounded by pencils and water bottles and journals and the symphony of noises which fills our full home. my thighs are gradually freezing from the ice pack sandwiched between my laptop and my lap, but it’s better than losing all of my work.
i just came home from a beautiful retreat which reminded me of my complete dependancy on God and my need to love him with everything i have. i know it will be worth it in surrendering all, for He gives it back and much, much more. we just need to make that initial gesture of weakness and He will transform us in his greatness and mercy.
it’s dark outside now and the pattering of childrens’ feet throughout the house is the main sound reaching my little corner of the living room couch. the puppy bounces alongside his human beings, following wherever food may happen to travel, until someone scoops him up and squeezes him and scolds him for being so adorable. then he wriggles out and skitters to the foot of the fridge where a hungry little child will inevitably appear soon.
my parents’ voices are heard from behind the door leading into the piano room, beautifully undisturbed. ‘paw patrol’ holds the little ones in spellbound silence while the middleses do their chores in the kitchen.
i’m soaking in the hum of our home, before the rush of bedtime penetrates the tranquility which generally lasts an hour or so in the evening.
each home has its own melody which waxes and wanes with each day. ours is a combination of music and shouts and laughter and ceiling fans and ocean music for sleep and the sound of puppy paws and pounding feet and ice-pop wrappers and amateur piano playing and the beeping of kitchen appliances and the soft swishing of the washing machine and the occasional screaming of the fire alarm and irish dancing feet and youtube videos and basketballs being dribbled and my little brother’s tricycle which he brought into the house and refuses to bring back outside. it’s a marriage of each room’s personal hum, harmonizing together into the melody of the big brick house on the cul-de-sac on Eastlake court with the oreo-cloud puppy that escapes every couple of hours.
all of the lights are on now, yellow and warm and comforting, and the kitchen is currently deserted as the tweens of the house forget their double-digit age for a few minutes and join the babies in gathering around the desktop pc for ‘paw patrol.’
i sit silently in my clutter of sketchbooks, pens, pencils and pillows. listening to the sounds of home and appreciating this place which will always have room for its eldest little girl, no matter how tall she gets or how large and alarmingly expensive her record collection becomes.
you’re facing down – a dark hall – i’ll grab my light – and go with you ~my blood