Earlier, I had all sorts of things I was going to say, but I think the sun fried all my brain cells. Priscilla and Aveline and I were off exploring this morning, and I am pretty sure all of us are now completely melted — it was HOT today!
But don’t miss her very cool (heh) photo tour of Aveline’s time in a Brasilian supermarket, from our outing to Silva’s last week!
It was my mom’s birthday yesterday.
She taught me — continues to teach me — countless things, among them the simple little fact that everyday chores can be infused with beauty.
She has a incredible touch which makes every little corner so pretty. No one can transform a space so quickly from generic to home like she can — she can make a hotel room feel like you’ve lived there your whole life, and you’re coming home.
She teaches me a cloth napkin folded in half underneath the French press can upgrade that morning cuppa from a routine to an experience.
She teaches me ragged, torn, stained towels belong in the rag box, not in the kitchen.
She teaches me to stop mid-morning or mid-afternoon and savor something, like a tall glass of iced tea.
She teaches me no matter how little one has, it can be made beautiful through a combination of cleaning and contentment.
And most importantly, she’s taught me to start cooking an onion if Josiah’s on his way home and I haven’t yet started dinner.
It’s important to combat the tyranny of the urgent. We must not let it consume us.
It’s important to live slowly enough to see tiny moments; those transcendent moments which stand outside of time and give you a glimpse into something beyond what this world can offer.
This morning, as the curtains filtered the sun, and the light wrapped around my little girl, I couldn’t help but realize I was seeing through a glass, dimly. I couldn’t help but think we are souls, primarily; we are bodies only temporarily. (Side note: contrary to popular belief; that’s not actually a C.S. Lewis quote.)
And so in this moment of shadows and light, of heaven and earth, of beauty both tangible and intangible, there was worship.
“The purpose of theology – the purpose of any thinking about God – is to make the silences clearer and starker to us, to make the unmeaning – by which I mean those aspects of the divine that will not be reduced to human meanings – more irreducible and more terrible, and thus ultimately more wonderful. This is why art is so often better at theology than theology is.” –Christian Wiman, My Bright Abyss, 130.
It’s taken me two years , but I’m finally accepting Florida for what it is. Funny, isn’t it, that along with the peaceful surrender and acceptance there comes a realization of so.much.beauty. (And yes, I am embarrassed to admit it took me this long. I’m a stubborn soul, and not proud of it.)
Aveline, on the other hand, knows nothing of this hesitation. She’s such an example to me. Aveline teaches me how life is meant to be lived: loudly, fearlessly, with an utterly joyful abandon. Like the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, she’s not worried about tomorrow.
She’s not worried about anything.
She’s a picture of who I want to be in this life: hands outstretched, head thrown back, full of pure unadulterated joy, eyes pointed up and heavenward, fearing nothing on this earth and giving all the glory to Jesus.
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P.S. A big welcome and hello to new readers who found this blog via Aveline’s photo appearing in Disney Baby’s What Baby Wore! It’s an honor and I must say, this wee ol’ blog appearing alongside bloggers I so admire is a little crazy to me! Thank you Living on Love for including me.
These are the everyday, middle-of-the-afternoon little moments I want to remember forever…those tiny toes, the look of concentration, her adorable little baby lips.
I’m so blessed to have her in my life.
Sometimes, on nice evenings, if dinner’s ready and the floodgates of heaven aren’t open, we step outside for a few minutes waiting for Papa to get home.
We talk to ants, point at airplanes, tell birds to hurry up and fly, and ask where all the puddles went.
Sometimes we stop for a moment, pick up our favorite succulent, think…
…and then question the wisdom of what we’ve just done.
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