mind body mama: Today

Today, my wife’s brother told us he had scattered his mom’s and brother’s ashes, on the same spot where his dad’s ashes were scattered all those years ago.

Today, I saw a picture of my most introverted friend singing her heart out.  With do-wop girls.

Today, the mother of my daughter’s best friend asked for prayers for her friend with brain cancer. And a young mama told us she’d be having surgery in two days.  And a friend’s dad is recovering from a pacemaker insert and pneumonia. 

Today I prayed.

Today, my daughter didn’t see me leave the playground because she was playing a recorder duet with her fiercest frenemy, and all her classmates gathered around to hear it.

Today I felt grateful for the men in my house: loud and dusty, with pick-up trucks and dirty boots who come too early in the morning.  I honor the work of their hands to give me the home of my heart's desire.

Today, my body aches because a man who wants more peace in the world has been teaching me how to beat the crap out of any man who tries to hurt me.

Today, I love my friends: tired, irritable, and premenstrual; shiny, smart and with shoe fetishes.  I love them when they are stuck and confused, when they are self-doubting and afraid, when they are filled with joy.  I love them in the dark bar and on the too-bright basketball court; I love them when they are leading worship and when they are leaking sadness.  I love them when they are teaching me and when they are learning from me. I love them for walking this path with me so I am not alone.

Today, my daughter wore my pink glitter sweater to school and I knew it wasn’t mine anymore.

Today, I love my wife in ways for which words fail.

Today is everyday.